


Hope and Healing

by gomez36000



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-03-26 10:02:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 61,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13855500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gomez36000/pseuds/gomez36000
Summary: Harry has a long and difficult path to overcoming not only Lord Voldemort, but also his trauma from his treatment at the hands of the Dursleys. AU with the story starting at 4th year. Harry/Fleur later on. This story deals seriously with abuse, which can be difficult for some readers.





	1. Chapter 1

  It had been a long summer for Harry Potter. It wasn’t that long, terrible summers were uncommon for him, but this one felt especially long, and especially terrible.  His room was dark, the only source of light coming from the moon. He lay on his bed, exhausted after yet another difficult day with his relatives, but sleep eluded him. He couldn’t help but replay the end of his last term at Hogwarts in his head once again, wishing it had ended differently.

 

  He had met his Godfather, Sirius Black, at the end of last term, and had been offered the chance to live with him when they turned in the traitorous Peter Pettigrew. His short lived dream was ruined when Peter managed to escape. He had felt especially downtrodden getting off the Hogwarts Express at the end of last term, though he tried to keep it from showing. Although he knew the Dursley’s to be muggles, he could swear they had a near magical ability to pick up on anything that made him feel bad, and make it worse. He knew better than to mention to them that Sirius was his godfather. Especially after Uncle Vernon’s tirade last summer after he had seen Sirius in the news as a wanted criminal. Harry grimaced at the recollection.

 

  Harry’s days during the summer were normally regulated to non-stop chores and cleaning, if he was lucky. If he was not so lucky, he garnered the attention of his cousin, or worse, his uncle, who both enjoyed reminding him violently that he wasn’t wanted in their home. Most days he got breaks for food, and the Dursley’s typically left him to his lengthy list of chores, and avoided interaction with the source of their greatest shame.

 

  During Harry’s ‘prison time’, however, they worked out an extremely detailed schedule, broken down to half hour blocks. Along with his new stringent schedule, his uncle had fashioned ‘nightsticks’ from branches that were as thick as Harry’s wrist. Uncle Vernon and Dudley would discipline him if he was lagging behind on his schedule, though Dudley would also hit him if he got too bored.

 

  Eventually the grueling schedule, coupled with the prison-like meals he was receiving, caused him to fall too far behind. A full day of ‘discipline’ from being so behind caused him to finally collapse under their blows. They eventually relented just shy of any broken bones, as they typically did their best to avoid hospital trips. There were always questions asked when he had to be taken in due to his injuries, which Harry deflected with practiced ease. When he’d been younger, he had told the doctor the truth, that it was Dudley who had broken his arm. His Uncle had deflected the doctor’s further questioning, saying that it was merely a “friendly wrestle gone wrong.” Harry had paid quite dearly for implicating his cousin when they had gotten home. It had been made crystal clear what he should and shouldn’t say to the staff at the hospitals.

 

  Harry was given nearly a full week to rest and recover, a week which he enjoyed, despite the constant aches and pains. His bruises gradually faded, and he was able to return to his chores, which had piled up during his recovery time. He’d have given anything to have some of Madam Pomfrey’s potions to speed up the process, foul as they were.

 

  He was broken out of his painful reverie by what sounded like a soft rock hitting the window. Repeatedly. He shot out of bed like lightning, and threw open his window. A brown blur flew inside, and began hooting at him, flying around his head. His sense of self-preservation took over, and even without his glasses, he snatched the blur from the air before it could wake the Dursleys. They wouldn’t be happy to be awoken by wizard mail. He kept his hand clamped over the small bird as he froze, listening for any sound of of movement from the house. A creak from the house settling made him jump out of his skin, but the sound of Uncle Vernon’s snoring never wavered. He walked over to his bed, and grabbed his glasses from the floor next to it. Putting them on, he examined the quivering mass in his hands.

 

  The very small brown owl was squirming, trying to get Harry to let him go. There was a small letter attached to the owl’s leg, though the owl made the letter look huge. Harry felt his heart begin to pound rapidly, his breath coming in short quick bursts. He had simply told his friends that he couldn’t get owls during the summer,and to only owl him if it was an emergency, and to only do so at night. His hands shook as he took the letter from the owl. A list of possible emergencies flew through Harry’s mind, and at the top of the list, sat Sirius. Had he been found? Trying unsuccessfully to calm his nerves, he quietly opened the letter, and held it up to the moonlight to read. He recognised Ron’s untidy script at once, and quickly read the letter.

 

_ Harry, _

_ I’ll keep it short, since Pig can’t carry any normal sized letters. Dad got tickets to the Quidditch World Cup! It starts in two weeks, and we have a ticket for you and Hermione. Mom said he’d send a muggle letter to your Aunt and Uncle to see if you can come. If you can, we’ll be there Sunday to get you, so we can leave on Monday. If you can’t come, we’ll be there on Sunday anyway. Send your answer back with Pig. Mom reckoned that it’d be polite to ask your family if you could come, even though we’re coming to get you anyway. Hermione is already here. She says to tell you hi, and to ask if you’ve been keeping up with your required summer reading. Don’t worry about answering any of that rubbish though, just send your answer about the world cup as soon as you can. _

 

_ See you soon _

_      Ron _

 

  Harry re-read the letter, making sure that he hadn’t missed anything about Sirius, or anything else of major importance. He sighed, and looked at the small owl in his hand.

 

  “Pig huh?” he whispered to it, sitting down on the edge of his bed. “Trust Ron to think quidditch is an emergency.”

 

  Harry loved quidditch more than just about anything, but it certainly wasn’t an emergency. He’d have to figure out a way to talk to his friend about appropriate emergencies, without letting slip too much about the Dursleys. He had told his friends in general terms about the Dursley’s dislike for magic, and anything related to it, but had left out their treatment towards him. He had spent the first eleven years of his life without a single friend, and didn’t think he could stand it if they found out how he was treated. Deep down he knew it was probably a ridiculous thought, but he had always been afraid that if they knew what he went through, they too would realize that he deserved it, and was as worthless as the Dursley’s thought him to be. Just thinking about it felt like he had been plunged into a bath of ice water.

 

  He had been invited to stay with the Weasley’s for some of the summer holidays after their first year, but Harry knew better than to ask the Dursleys for anything. They would enjoy not having to deal with him for a few extra weeks, but they would know that going to the Weasley’s house would bring Harry great joy, and that was unacceptable. He had warned Ron off finding a way to smuggle him away from the Dursley’s, as he knew that sneaking out would bring dire consequences when he had to return the following summer. The summer after his first year had been the worst he’d ever endured. Not because his relatives were any more horrible than usual, but because he knew what it was to have friends, and learn magic at Hogwarts.

 

  His only company had been the tiny house elf Dobby, who had tried to convince him to stay away from Hogwarts. The elf had alluded to some mortal danger that was being planned for the school, though he had tried to smash his head on things with just about every other word. Having had some experience with being made to punish himself, Harry had been able to calm the elf down, though the sight had made Harry’s heart race, and adrenaline course through him. He had told Dobby, surprisingly frankly, that he would rather be wounded at Hogwarts, than leave the school to be safe. The elf had threatened to interrupt the Dursley’s business party that was taking place down stairs to get him expelled. Before he could think about it, Harry had bent down do grab the small house-elf, and was pleading, on his knees, to leave the Dursleys alone. It took a lot of convincing, but in the end Dobby had relented.

 

  “Harry Potter and Dobby have much in common,” Dobby had said sadly, his big bulging eyes full of tears. “Dobby knows what it is like to wish for freedom. Be safe Harry Potter.” The house-elf vanished without a whisper after that, and Harry hadn’t seen him since.

 

  Harry shook his head, trying to refocus. He looked back down at the letter, and wondered what life at the Weasley’s was like. Ron and the twins tended to complain about Mrs. Weasley’s overbearing manner, though it was typically while talking about being overfed, or given their colored christmas sweaters. Harry had been mortified when he received his sweater for Mrs. Weasley, as he had promptly burst into tears. It had been overwhelming to receive a christmas gift for the first time at eleven, and he just couldn’t help it. Ron had mumbled about sending his mother a letter about Harry likely not receiving any gifts, and Harry’s jumble of emotions at receiving the sweater had shifted largely to shame. It had been a slightly awkward morning after that, though Harry had immensely enjoyed the chocolate that Ron had given him. Harry didn’t wear the sweater, as looking at it still gave him conflicted feelings about a gift given out of pity, but he kept all the ones he was given in his school trunk.

 

  There was no way the Dursley’s would grant permission for him to leave, and sneaking away would result in his worst summer yet come next year. However, the Quidditch World Cup did sound exciting, and the thought of leaving the Dursley’s to spend time at the Weasley’s was certainly tempting. He decided he was glad Ron had sent the note. It gave him the opportunity to intercept Mrs. Weasley’s letter to the Dursleys. He glanced down at Pig, who had settled down considerably, likely exhausting itself in its struggle to get free. He slowly opened his hand on the bed next to him, letting Pig walk around.

 

  “Sorry I don’t have any food or water for you,” he whispered to the bird, who seemed to be looking around for just that. “I’m not allowed to keep my owl here.” He didn’t want to think about what his Uncle would do if he brought Hedwig home with him. His familiar had to spend the summer flying free, rather than with him, but Hedwig always found him again at the beginning of every school year.

 

  He grabbed the pencil he had stashed under the loose floorboard under his bed, just in case he had been able to sneak some of his school books out from where they were locked up. He sat on the floor under his window, using the moonlight to see by to write his letter. He missed the lavish rooms at Hogwarts, with their four poster beds and canopies. His spartan room at Privet Drive had only his bed in it, a closet for all Dudley’s old clothes that he was allowed to wear, and a small clock to wake him up. He scrawled his response on the back of Ron’s letter.

 

_ Ron, _

_ I’d really love to go to the World Cup, but I’m not sure how you’d come and get me. You would need to arrive after 9 o’clock Sunday night, so we don’t disturb my Aunt and Uncle.  _

_ They have a big business thing early the next morning, and can’t be disturbed.  I’ll need a hand getting my things from where they’re kept if you find a way here. They’re locked up to keep them safe, so someone will have to help me get them. My room is on the second floor, first window closest to the front door. _

 

_ Hope to see you soon, _

_ Harry _

 

  “At least he remembered to send the letter at night,” Harry mumbled to the Pig, as he tied the small letter back to the owl’s leg. He tried to quash the guilt he felt at the minor lies he had to put in his letter. “Please take this quickly back to Ron,” he urged the small owl as he carried it back over to the window. The owl twittered quietly, looking around a last time for something to eat or drink. 

 

  “Sorry,” Harry said again, holding Pig out the window, and watched it fly, with difficulty, into the night.

 

  Harry let out a sigh of relief that the excitable bird was out of sight, and settled back into bed. He placed his glasses on the floor, hoping to dream of flying on his Firebolt in the World Cup.

 

XxXxXxXxXxXx

 

  Harry awoke with a strangled cry. He clamped his hands over his mouth to keep too much sound from getting out as he groaned. His forehead felt like it was going to split open. His scar throbbed painfully in time with his racing heart. As he sat there, he tried to recall the horrible dream he had been having. As he tried to remember, he felt the images slipping from his mind in the way only important dreams can. He glanced over at the small clock next to his bed. It was the only furnishing in his room besides his bed, and served to make sure he woke in time to begin breakfast for the Dursleys. He saw that he still had a little over an hour to sleep, and knew he should make the most of it, as he would have to be extra vigilant on his lookout for Mrs. Weasley’s letter. He flopped back down, with his left hand rubbing at his scar. The pain was subsiding quickly, and soon he was asleep once more.

 

  He awoke just before he was meant to begin breakfast, and hurried downstairs as quietly as he could, trying to make sure his relatives didn’t know he was running behind. He pulled out the necessary cookware for the morning meal, and began cooking. He spent the time trying to figure out how he was going to get Mrs. Weasley’s letter before either his Aunt or Uncle saw it. Harry didn’t usually get the mail, and any deviation from the norm would likely arouse suspicion. He knew better than to draw any extra attention to himself. He thought hard, and opted for a simple solution. It would be easy to stay by the mail slot in the front door if he were doing the interior chores. There were plenty that he needed to do, and a few of them would have him by the front door.

 

  He plated up the Dursley’s breakfast as they trudged down the stairs. Dudley came down last, the stairs groaning under his immense form. In the time Harry had been away at Hogwarts, Dudley seemed to have somehow surpassed his massive father in weight. Both Uncle Vernon and Dudley’s chairs sagged as they sat down at the table, eyes looking hungrily to where Harry was finishing the meal. They never said much in the mornings, which was why Harry had quickly become a morning person. They never had it in them to be properly horrible until they’d had enough fat and protein.

 

  He quickly ate his small breakfast, and ran to the hall closet to grab his cleaning supplies before the Dursley’s could assign him other tasks. He began sweeping the floors, keeping an eye on the dining room table to be sure he could quickly grab the dirty plates when they finished. He felt a pang of longing for Hogwarts, where the plates magically cleaned themselves, and the food just appeared on the tables. 

 

  He knew the mail would be arriving soon, and began sweeping toward the front of the house. He silently thanked the mailman for his obsessive punctuality. As he rounded the corner to the front hall, he heard the mail slot open, and saw a few letters and a magazine fall through.

 

_ Jackpot. _

 

  Lying partially buried under the magazine, was a normal sized letter, covered completely with stamps. He quickly slid the letter into the back pocket of his pants. The pants, like all other clothes he owned, used to belong to Dudley. The large back pocket could likely have held a phonebook with room to spare, and the letter slipped in completely and was hidden. Harry almost couldn’t believe his good fortune. He gathered the rest of the mail, and went back in the kitchen. He placed the letters next to his Uncle, earning him a grunt in response. He put down the fashion magazine next to his Aunt. He went back to sweeping as he waited for them to finish.

 

  It didn’t take long before his Uncle was dressed, and headed out the door to his job at Grunnings. Beyond his grunt, his Uncle hadn’t said anything to him all morning. Harry hoped that the last few days before the World Cup would be just as good, and he’d be able to keep his head down and free of injuries before the Weasleys arrived. The day went by quickly with the thoughts of seeing a professional Quidditch game in person in his head. He could feel himself getting excited about it, but quashed the feeling, making sure his Aunt didn’t pick up on his excitement, and ruin his plans. She wasn’t nearly as physical as Uncle Vernon was, but she had no qualms about workin him to collapse, then complaining to her husband when he got home to work about how Harry had slacked off all day. 

 

  He cleaned the inside of the house all day, only stopping for lunch. He was used to the meals he got, but this summer it had been more difficult to keep his energy up with what he usually was allowed to eat. He noticed that he had been growing a little taller, his already slightly thin frame appearing to stretch a bit further. He knew he’d never be as tall as his friend Ron, but he wasn’t too worried about it, his light weight made him extra quick on his broom during the quidditch matches at school. He wondered if he’d grown past Hermione, who had gotten taller than him in their second year. He had taken to sneaking down to the kitchen at night to eat a little more food, so he wouldn’t be quite so hungry the next day. He just had to make sure he went down after Dudley had finished sneaking snacks up to his room.

 

  That evening, after grabbing his quick midnight snack, he pulled out Mrs. Weasley’s letter. Giving in to his curiosity and boredom, he opened the letter, and read by the moonlight.

 

_ Dear Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, _

_ We haven’t been properly introduced yet, but I’m sure you’ve heard from Harry about my son Ron. As I’m sure Harry has mentioned, the Quidditch World Cup  takes place this Monday night, and my husband Arthur has managed to get top-box tickets. We would love to take Harry to the match with us, as it’s been years since Britain hosted the cup. _

_ We would be happy to have Harry stay with us for the rest of the summer, and take him to the Hogwarts Express with us. _

_ Please have Harry send a letter by owl, as I’m not sure we can receive mail the Muggle way. _

 

_ Yours sincerely, _

_ Molly Weasley _

 

  Harry smiled at the letter, not sure he could wait until Sunday when the Weasley’s would come get him. He glanced reflexively out the window, hoping that the strange, small owl had made its delivery. He slid the letter into the hiding space under his bed, breathing a sigh of relief. He was beyond relieved that he had been able to intercept the letter. If Uncle Vernon had survived the fit he would have at the mention of Quidditch, the Hogwarts Express, and owls, it would have been very bad news for Harry. They were especially intolerant of anything to do with the wizarding world, and Harry learned very quickly to avoid anything that even sounded like it was magical. He suspected the only reason that he was even allowed to go to Hogwarts, was because of the Dursley’s prevailing fear of Hagrid, from just before his first year. Harry snickered at the memory of Dudley’s tail that Hagrid had given him. 

 

  He lie awake for a little longer, planning out what chores he was going to be doing the next day. He knew he would have to be in top form if he wanted to avoid any discipline from his Aunt or Uncle. They usually laid off a bit before the beginning of term, so that their precious ‘image’ would be protected. He didn’t want to have to tell the Weasleys that his cousin roughed him up a little so they wouldn’t ask any difficult questions. He didn’t like lying to the people who had been so nice to him.

 

XxXxXxXxXxXx

 

  The next few days went by as slowly as they possibly could. Harry tried his best to forget about the World Cup, but try as he might, he couldn’t completely quell his excitement. After 3 grueling days, it was finally Sunday evening. He put on his best fitting pair of clothes, something Dudley hadn’t been able to wear for many years, and waited. Nine o’clock came and went, and his heart began to sink. He wasn’t sure if he could bear another few weeks with the Dursleys after freedom had been so close. Especially not after the disappointment of not being able to live with Sirius. Just as he was about to take off his clothes and lay down, there were two soft cracks, and suddenly Mr. Weasley and Fred, or George, Harry wasn’t sure, were standing in his room looking around. Mr. Weasley caught sight of Harry, staring open-mouthed at them, and smiled kindly at him.

 

  “We got your letter Harry,” he said, glancing quickly around the room, eyes lingering briefly on the bed and clock, a small frown taking the place of his friendly smile. Harry felt his face grow hot with shame. He was glad for the darkness. “I brought Fred with me to help you with your trunk.”

 

  “My Aunt and Uncle are sleeping, so we’ll have to be quiet,” Harry said, his voice cracking slightly from disuse. He was happy that Dudley snored so loudly from the next room over, it helped mask the noise their appearance had made.

 

  "George and I drew straws to see who would come help Dad." said Fred. "Where are your things? Ron said you'd need help getting them out." the twin asked him. Harry showed Fred downstairs to the cupboard under the stairs where they kept his things, being sure to point out the squeaky stairs. Harry began to look around in the dark kitchen for the key that unlocked his old cupboard. He didn't get far, before he heard a small click from behind him. He turned back to Fred, and saw the older boy leaning down to open the cupboard with a triumphant smile on his face. "It's a good thing I came along," he said as he gently helped lift Harry's trunk from it's resting place, "I'm better at muggle lock-picking than George."

 

  They quietly made their way back to a waiting Mr. Weasley, and set the trunk, along with Hedwig's empty cage, gently on the floor.

 

  “I must admit Harry,” Mr. Weasley said after a moment, “I don’t like the idea of secreting you away in the night from your family. We had planned to come by Floo, to finally be able to meet your Aunt and Uncle.”

 

  “They have an electric fireplace inside their regular one, sir,” Harry said, hoping the mention of an electric fire would distract Mr. Weasley, “I don’t expect you’d be able to make it out of the fireplace if you came that way.” He glanced up quickly to Mr. Weasley’s face to see if it had worked. He saw the older man’s face light up with interest.

 

  “An electric fire?” he wondered aloud. “Is the fire itself electric? No, that couldn’t be right...but how does the electricity actually start a fire?”

 

  Fred laughed quietly at his father's interest, before motioning to Harry's things. "Let's go Dad. I'm sure Mum is beside herself waiting for Harry to arrive."

 

  Mr. Weasley nodded, abandoning his musings. "Hold onto my shoulders," he said, placing a hand on the trunk, "I'll apparate us back to the Burrow."

.

  Harry felt a very bizarre twisting sensation, and very suddenly, saw the lights of a strange house in front of him. He smiled as he took in his first sight of the Burrow and let out a large sigh of relief. He was free.

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Harry was greeted by Mrs. Weasley by way of a tremendous bear hug. He tried his best not to stiffen up. He knew she was just happy to see him, but her penchant for hugs had always made him a little uncomfortable.

 

“So glad to see you Harry dear,” she said as she released him, giving him a quick once over. “We’ve just finished dinner, but you’re welcome to the leftovers if you’re still hungry after your dinner at home.”

 

“That’d be nice,” Harry said quietly, trying not to let his desire show on his voice. Mrs. Weasley’s meals, in his opinion, were second only to the feast days at Hogwarts. He flushed when his traitorous stomach let out a loud grumble.

 

Mr. Weasley laughed, and clapped his hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry jumped a little in surprise, but didn’t say anything. “Growing boys can never get enough food Molly,” he said with a smile down at Harry. “Let’s head inside, Ron has probably already started in on those leftovers.”

 

Harry let himself be bustled into the Burrow by Mrs. Weasley, as Mr. Weasley levitated his trunk along behind them. As they crossed the threshold, Harry was astounded by the inside of the strange house. The door opened directly into what appeared to be a family room. Large patched sofas lined the wall, with a few armchairs spread about in a disorganized fashion. Hermione was sitting with her legs dangling off an armrest in one of the chairs, reading ‘Hogwarts: A History’ for what must be the thousandth time.

 

“Make yourself at home,” Mrs. Weasley said fondly, as she moved toward the kitchen. “I’ll have you a plate of food ready in no time.”

 

He thanked her as he stepped out of Mr. Weasley’s way, so the older man could maneuver his trunk through the cluttered home. He had moved close to the large fireplace that dominated the center of the room, and noticed dozens of wizarding pictures on it’s mantle. Harry’s interest was quickly captured by the numerous pictures of his friends at various ages. He laughed as much younger versions of Fred and George tossed a toddler-aged Ron between them. The young Ron seemed to alternate between having loads of fun, and feeling sick.

 

He glimpsed a beaming Ginny, holding her Hogwarts letter. There was one of a haggard looking Mrs. Weasley, shouting silently at the twins, who were doing loops on brooms. He continued down the mantle, looking at the multitude of family photos. He saw a picture of Percy, proudly holding his Head Boy badge, flanked by two other similar pictures, holding similar badges. He recognized a younger Charlie and Bill Weasley from their photo from their trip to Egypt they had won last summer. 

 

He stopped on a group of photos, which seemed to have a place of prominence on the mantle. He was surprised to see a tired looking Mrs. Weasley in all of them, but understood when he saw what she was holding tenderly in her arms. Each picture had a different Weasley baby, being held by their proud Mother. He noticed Fred and George’s picture, where Mrs. Weasley still looked happy, but would occasionally fall asleep for a minute or two. He stopped on the last picture, where Mrs. Weasley looked the oldest, but was also positively glowing with happiness.

 

“That was taken just hours after Ginny was born,” said a voice from behind Harry, startling him badly.

 

“Sorry,” he said quickly, as he whirled around to face the speaker. “I didn’t mean to snoop.”

 

The man smiled, as he offered Harry his hand. “I’m Bill,” He said, shaking Harry’s hand firmly. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

 

“You too,” Harry replied, as he took in the eldest Weasley sibling’s appearance. He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d been expecting, but he knew it wasn’t what he saw in front of him. In such close quarters, Harry had to crane his neck to to look up at Bill. He looked extremely cool with his long red hair pulled back into a ponytail, and a large earring with a sharp looking fang on it.

 

Bill moved over to the picture of Ginny and Mrs. Weasley, leaning down a little to get a better look. “Mum and Dad had wanted a girl so badly,” he explained without prompting. “Even if she’d turned out to be a boy, she was going to be their last. I think Mum hoped that she’d have someone to teach the household magic she’s spent years perfecting, and having someone to do knitting with, and things of that nature.” Bill laughed as he turned back to Harry. “Joke’s on them I suppose. She’s scrappier than any two of us put together, and rubbish at any of the delicate charms necessary for housework.”

 

He paused for a moment, in which Harry racked his brain, trying to think of what he was supposed to say in response. Before he could come up with anything, Bill was speaking again, though more seriously.

 

“Listen Harry,” He began, looking down so his blue eyes fixed on Harry’s green ones. “Sorry to be so blunt, but I wanted to thank you for saving my sister’s life a year and a half ago. I considered sending you an owl about it just after, but I decided I’d do it in person when we finally met.”

 

Whatever Harry had been expecting from their conversation, it hadn’t been that. “No problem,” he replied, as confidently as he could manage. For some reason he felt torn between being intimidated by Bill, and wanting to impress him.

 

“No problem…” echoed Bill, his eyes still on Harry’s, with a small smile tugging at his lips. “Mum and Dad explained to me what happened.”

 

Harry began to feel intensely self conscious. Slaying the basilisk had been much more luck than skill. He probably should have died there in the chamber along with Ginny.

 

“Later on,” Bill continued, “I got Ginny to tell me the full story about what happened down there. About how you killed a massive basilisk to save her. ‘No problem’ indeed. Ginny wouldn’t be here without you, and I wanted you to know how much we appreciate what you did.”

 

Harry felt as though he wanted to clear up the misunderstanding. That he hadn’t been heroic, or skilled, or brave. He had been terrified, and very lucky. Had Fawkes not shown up to save him with both the tears to heal him, and the Sword of Gryffindor, they’d have both died down there. He managed a weak, “You’re welcome,” instead, and finally looked away from Bill’s gaze.

 

Bill smiled at him for a moment longer, before wishing him a good night, and heading around the fireplace toward the stairs. Harry stood awkwardly for a moment, before Hermione piped up from her spot on the armchair.

 

“He’s right you know,” she said, having set her book on a nearby table, her place marked by a large tasseled bookmark. Harry turned to her, feeling a little exasperated.

 

“Not again Hermione,” he said, hating the fact that he could tell his cheeks were still flushed from Bill’s gratitude. “I’ve told you before, I wasn’t a hero or anything. I casted blindly at it, and then got bitten. I wouldn’t have made it without Fawkes and the Sorting Hat.”

 

“Help or no help Harry,” she replied, “slaying a basilisk is an impressive feat by itself, not to mention the fact that Ginny would have died without your help.” Her tone indicated to him that she thought she had the right of it. Which, if he was being honest, was usually true. He tried to look everywhere but at Hermione. Such a serious and unexpected conversation with Bill had flustered and overwhelmed him.

 

Thankfully, Hermione seemed to drop it. He was saved any more awkwardness by Mrs. Weasley calling his name from the dining area. He walked quickly to where Mrs. Weasley had prepared him a spot at their large wooden dining table.

 

“We had a bit of steak and potatoes left for you,” she said as he sat down. “I hope it’s enough. Ron is going through twice as much food as usual this summer. Growing like a weed…” she trailed off, as thunderous footsteps were descending the stairs.

 

“Suddenly grown giant’s feet have you?” she hollered up the stairs. Harry watched, as she paused for a moment, before she turned a bright, angry red. “Fred! George!” she bellowed around the stairs. “There had better not be anybody with giant’s feet in this house!”

 

“Don’t you worry,” came one the twin’s voices around the corner.

 

“We haven’t fed anyone anything,” said the other.

 

“We haven’t even made a Giant’s Feet Treat,” said the first.

 

“But we’ll get right on it!”

 

“Thanks for the idea!”

 

Mrs. Weasley stormed towards the voices, leaving Harry to his food. The stomping had turned out to be Ron, who took a seat next to Harry. Harry was surprised to see that Mrs. Weasley was right, and Ron had indeed grown considerably over the summer.

 

“Glad you’re here mate,” he said by way of greeting. “Hermione arrived days ago, but all she does is lounge around and read. Surely she has that book memorized by now.”

 

Harry didn’t reply, as he was savoring the meal Mrs. Weasley had given him. The Dursley’s didn’t starve him really, but he didn’t necessarily eat well either.

 

“Charlie is here too,” Ron continued, “but he’s already asleep. He had to pull an all nighter last night to get his team ready to work without him for the cup.” He glanced back to where Mrs. Weasley was laying into the twins just out of sight. “I expect he’s put up some silencing charms though.”

 

Ron paused for a moment, apparently in thought, before continuing.

 

“Hey Harry, why’d Dad and Fred have to come get you so late? Mom and Dad said they were going to Floo over to meet your Aunt and Uncle. Dad had almost gotten your fireplace temporarily hooked up to the network. They had a bit of an argument about coming to get you at night after your family had gone to sleep, but Dad pointed out that they’d said you could come, and she eventually gave in.”

 

Harry had stopped eating as Ron had asked his question. He thought back to Mr. Weasley expressing reservations about ‘secreting him away’ in the middle of the night, and felt terrible for having caused an argument between his friend’s parents.

 

“The Dursley’s have an electric fireplace,” Harry said, pretty sure that Ron wouldn’t be as interested as his father was, but figured it was worth a shot anyway. “I doubt they’d have been able to Floo over there at all, and like I said, my Uncle had a big business deal to work out in the morning, and they didn’t want to be disturbed the whole day before as they got ready for it.” Harry felt a familiar pang of guilt as he lied once again about his relatives. He hated lying to his friends, but he hated the idea of them knowing the truth more.

 

Ron seemed to digest this, and Harry jumped in with a question of his own in an attempt to distract his friend. “What did your mum mean ‘There had better not be anyone with giant’s feet’ when she was yelling at Fred and George? Why’s she yelling at them anyways?”

 

Ron grinned mischievously as he leaned in closer, which Harry thought unnecessary, as Mrs. Weasley’s continued yelling would cover anything they were saying just fine.

 

“Mum found order forms that Fred and George had made for a joke shop they’re working on. They had all sorts of strange candies and trick items on there. She went mental, told them they were wasting their education at Hogwarts and corrupting the younger children. I think she just sees it as the twins making people pay to do their pranking for them.” Ron once again looked a little thoughtful. “I’m not so sure that isn’t exactly what they’re doing,” he added after a moment. “Make sure you don’t eat anything they give you. Percy did by accident, and his ears grew ten times their normal size.”

 

Harry choked a little on his last bite, trying not to laugh at the image of Percy with elephant sized ears. Mrs. Weasley came back into the dining room, still red-faced, just as Harry finished up.

 

“I hope you got enough,” she said as she sent the plate and silverware flying into the kitchen with a flick of her wand.

 

“Yes,” Harry replied gratefully. “It was wonderful.”

 

“Glad to hear it,” she said with a smile, before making a shooing motion at them. “Go on now. You had better head upstairs. You don’t have to go to sleep right away, but don’t stay up too late. We’ll all need to be up and moving by dawn, so get plenty of rest. You don’t want to sleep through the World Cup!”

 

Ron grumbled, but lead the way up the stairs to his room. He suddenly began stamping his feet as they came close to a closed door on their right. Percy’s head popped angrily out of the door seconds after Ron began stomping.

 

“Got giant’s feet now have you?” he said crossly, in a passable, if unintentional imitation of his mother.

 

“Don’t think so,” Ron said back, matching Percy’s irritation. “Still glued to that world-changing cauldron report of yours?”

 

“ _ You _ might not find it important,” Percy huffed, “but Mr. Crouch needs me to take care of important work like this, while he focuses on...other projects.” Percy looked over at Harry, and his face relaxed into a friendly smile. “Welcome to our home Harry. I hope you enjoy your stay.” He scowled over at Ron, “If you’ll both excuse me.” He slammed the door in Ron’s face at the word ‘me’, and Harry could hear him casting a few spells from the other side of the door.

 

“Git,” Ron muttered, as they continued up to Ron’s room. “It’s been ‘Mr. Crouch says this. Mr. Crouch thinks that’ the whole time. Between Mr. Crouch, his cauldron report, some missing ministry employee, and some secret he keeps lording over us, he’s been extra insufferable lately. And for Percy, that’s saying something.”

 

Hermione had caught up with them on her way to Ginny’s room for the night. She had walked up while Ron was badgering Percy, and let out a sigh of exasperation.

 

“He’s just doing his job Ron,” she remonstrated in a tone that said this wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation. “Getting a job in the ministry directly out of Hogwarts is a major achievement. You should be proud of him.” Ron grunted non-comitally in reply.

 

Hermione stopped at Ginny’s room, and bid Harry a goodnight, noticeably omitting Ron, who seemed not to notice. A few steps later, they arrived at Ron’s room, where they could hear a racket coming from inside, even with the doors closed. Ron sighed, and opened the door in a resigned sort of way. Harry looked past Ron to see Pig, who was hooting non-stop, flying circles around a snowy owl sitting on top of Ron’s dresser.

 

“Hedwig!” Harry exclaimed, hurrying over to where his familiar was perched. Hedwig gave him a reproachful look, before looking up at the tiny owl flying about. Harry offered Hedwig his arm, who promptly hopped on, all annoyance having left her face. She affectionately nipped at his fingers as he stroked her head. After a moment of reveling in the attention she was receiving, she lifted one of her talons, showing Harry a letter that he hadn’t noticed. 

 

Harry untied the letter with his free hand, and moved his other arm closer to the dresser for Hedwig to step off. She reluctantly moved back to the dresser, where Pig had landed. The much smaller owl had not stopped hooting, but was now hopping around the larger owl. Harry payed them no mind as he began to read the letter.

 

_ Harry, _

 

_ I hope you’re having a good summer. I’ve tried to write you this whole time, but your owl wouldn’t take any letters to you. I had given up writing to you until you got to Hogwarts, but suddenly she brought me my quill and parchment, and pecked at me until I began writing. Smart bird you’ve got here, if a bit bossy. _

_ If I had to guess, I would say that you probably aren’t allowed to receive owls at your relative’s house. I never met Petunia. She refused to come to your parent’s wedding, which I expect would’ve been my only chance. Lily talked about her occasionally, but I got the impression they didn’t get along well. Hopefully we’ll get this whole Peter situation resolved quickly, and I’ll be able to make good on my offer to take you in, if you’re still interested. _

_ Buckbeak and I have found a nice place to lay low, though it’s a little far, so if you send Hedwig with a letter, it’ll take some time to get here. I look forward to catching up in person, when we aren’t quite so busy. I didn’t get the opportunity to thank Dumbledore for saving us from those dementors by the lake, so when you see him this term, please tell him Snuffles said thank you. _

 

_ -Your Godfather _

“Is it from Sirius?” Ron asked interestedly. Harry noticed he was trying to restrain himself from reading over Harry’s shoulder. Harry handed the letter over by way of reply, letting Ron sate his curiosity.

 

“Wonder where he’s staying,” Ron said after he’d finished. “Gotta be somewhere far away if it’d take Hedwig a while to get there. She’s one of the fasted owls I’ve ever met.” He looked disdainfully at Pig, who had begin flying around the room again. “Not like this ruddy thing,” he muttered, snatching a protesting Pig out of the air. He set the small owl on the dresser next to Hedwig, and gestured to the larger bird. “You could learn a thing or two from her.”

 

Pig looked up at Hedwig, and began bouncing around the desk again, hooting loudly. Hedwig gave Harry a sharp look, before she lifted a talon, and pinned Pig to the desk. Ron snorted before flopping onto his bed, which had been transfigured into a bunk bed to accommodate Harry. Harry opened his trunk, which Mr. Weasley had placed at the end of the bed. He dug his pajamas out from underneath the mass of clothes he had tossed in at the end of last term. He tucked the letter from Sirius down in the bottom, next to his invisibility cloak, and closed the trunk. He was glad to finally change from Dudley’s old clothes into his pajamas, one of the few pieces of clothing he had been able to purchase for himself at Diagon Alley. He sometimes wished witches and wizards weren’t quite so keen on wearing robes all the time.

 

He climbed up to the top bunk, and flopped face down onto the pillow. He felt the long day catching up with him, despite his excitement with the World Cup and hearing from Sirius. He decided he’d wait until he was back at Hogwarts to write a letter back. He wanted to enjoy Hedwig’s company a little before sending her on another long journey.

 

“You going to sleep already?” Ron asked from the bunk below him.

 

“I’ve been up since about five in the morning,” Harry explained through a yawn. “Besides, you heard your Mum. We’ve gotta be up at dawn.”

 

“I know,” Ron replied, “but I’m too excited about the cup to sleep.” Harry heard him climb out of bed and change into his pajamas as well. “I’m glad your Aunt and Uncle said you could come.” 

 

“Me too,” Harry said, trying not to think about the Dursley’s reaction to his vanishing act come next summer. There wasn’t much he could do about it now, so worrying about it was pointless. Despite this, he could feel a knot of anxiety begin to form in his chest.  His Uncle had really laid into him during his prison regimen, but he knew he’d be wishing for something as tame as that come next summer. He fought the rising tide of panic at his depressing thoughts by trying to focus on the upcoming Quidditch match instead. He was about to watch some of the best players in the world compete, and would be able to play on his own house team once the Hogwarts term started. The pleasant thoughts of flying, coupled with his exhaustion helped the panic subside, and he drifted quickly off to sleep.

 

He felt as though he had only just closed his eyes when Mrs. Weasley was gently shaking him awake. He could hear Ron grumbling from below him. “Oh stop complaining Ron,” Mrs Weasley admonished as she was leaving the small room. “Don’t forget to wear your muggle clothes you two. Be downstairs in ten minutes.”

 

Harry lay still for a moment, the exhaustion of the previous day still feeling heavy on his body. The haziness of sleep quickly lifted, and he remembered where they were headed. He quickly climbed out of bed, and opened his trunk.

 

“Dunno how you’re always so full of energy in the morning,” Ron groused into his pillow.

 

“I’ve always been able to get up early,” Harry said as he pulled Dudley’s shirt back out. He frowned at it, wishing again that he had is own muggle clothes to wear. It certainly didn’t help things that all the money he possessed was in wizarding currency. “Besides, you get more done in the day if you get up early.” He grabbed a small bag of coins he kept in his trunk before shutting it. He was sure there’d be some neat magical keepsakes to buy at the Cup.

 

“Hermione says the same thing,” mumbled Ron, as he rolled slowly out of bed.

 

Harry went over to Hedwig, who was perched on the open window. He offered her his arm once again, and she happily hopped on for more attention. “I’ll be back after the cup,” he said, as he scratched her head. “I don’t know how long that’ll be, but we’ll come back here before going to school.” Hedwig hooted her understanding, before taking flight out the window.

 

Hedwig’s hoot woke Pig, who had been sleeping where he’d been pinned to the desk. The small owl hooted once, and hopped over to the open window.

 

“Who’s heard of an owl that sleeps during the night,” Ron said as he pulled on a bright green shirt. If Pig took offence, he didn’t show it, hooting happily once more before hopping out the window, and flying after Hedwig.

 

“Why’d you name him Pig?” Harry asked, as they started down the stairs. It was something he’d been wondering since he’d gotten Ron’s letter.

 

“Ginny named him actually. Ridiculous name if you ask me.”

 

Ginny’s bedroom door opened as they passed it, and she stepped out behind them. She followed them down, Hermione behind her.

 

“His real name is Pigwidgeon,” Ginny explained, the tiredness still evident in her voice. “Ron just can’t help being a prat to him.” Ron grunted, too tired to take the bait.

 

“I like him,” said Hermione, much more awake than either of the Weasley siblings. Harry knew she was an early riser like him. “Even if he is a little...eccentric.” Ron grunted again, though it sounded more like a laugh.

 

As they stepped off the last stair, they all found themselves with small sandwiches thrust into their hands. 

 

“No time for a proper breakfast,” she said, handing Fred and George each a sandwich from the platter she was carrying. Both twins were sitting at the table, both looking ready to doze off sitting up.

 

“Where’s Percy?” Fred asked through a yawn. “Thought he’d be the first one down here since he loves to prattle on about how useful it is to get up early. Probably stayed up all night working on his report and whatever ‘Top Secret’ thing his girlfriend Mr. Crouch is working on.”

 

“I’m surprised he hasn’t let it slip yet,” George followed, through a yawn of his own. “Since he can’t help but tell us he’s not allowed to tell us about ‘important ministry secrets’.”

 

“That’s enough you two,” Mrs. Weasley admonished heatedly. She didn’t seem to have forgotten the Giants Feet Treats from the night before. “You two could certainly stand to act a bit more like your older brother. Like any of them for that matter! Percy has done very well for himself to get a job at the Ministry the summer after graduating Hogwarts. You two will be lucky to even be allowed to graduate if you don’t start applying yourselves this year. Your little ‘project’ is only distracting you from…” she trailed off, looking sideways at Fred and George, who suddenly looked far more awake than they had seconds before.

 

“Pockets.” Mrs. Weasley commanded, her finger pointed down at the dining room table.

Fred and George grumbled as they turned out their pockets, socks, and waistbands. Soon a whole quarter of the table was covered in sweets, wands, and firecrackers.

 

“Is this all of it?” Mrs. Weasley asked cooly.

 

Fred and George nodded simultaneously, both looking equal parts abashed, and irritated.

 

Mrs. Weasley pulled her wand out of her apron, and waved it at the twins. “ _ Accio!” _

 

She waiting a few moments before putting her wand back in her apron, satisfied. Before she could say anything else, Mr. Weasley interjected. “Percy will be apparting along with Bill and Charlie. They’re all still in bed.”

 

“Been apparating around all summer,” Ron muttered to Harry, taking a bite of his sandwich. “Just got his license. He apparates down to breakfast most days.”

 

Before Harry could say anything, Mr. Weasley began rounding them all up. He was dressed in what Harry could only assume was supposed to be a muggle outfit. He walked around the room, handing them each backpacks. “Molly packed yours for you Harry,” he said as he offered Harry a patched, faded green backpack. “Off we go now,” he said loudly to the small group. “The portkey leaves shortly, and we won’t get another chance if we miss it.”

 

“Take care!” Mrs. Weasley called as they filed out the front door. “And behave you two!”

 

“It’s a bit of a walk,” said Mr. Weasley as the neared the end of the path leading away from the Burrow. “We should arrive with a few minutes to spare though.” The group followed Mr. Weasley quietly, everyone apparently too tired for much conversation. The quiet suited Harry just fine as we walked a few paces back from everyone else. He was excited to go to the Cup, but knew there would be more people there than he had ever seen in one place before. He didn’t like being around lots of people, or a lot of noise, and the Quidditch World Cup would have both to spare. It helped that he knew it was coming, and could prepare himself mentally.

 

He was lost in his thoughts until he noticed Hermione drifting back from the group to walk beside him. He noticed as she approached that he hadn’t outgrown her at all. She was still quite a bit taller than him, and her hair only served to make it worse. He felt unaccountably irritated at being the shortest of his friends. He hoped that she wouldn’t bring up the conversation they had the night before. He was getting tired of having the same argument a few times per year. He noticed she had a thoughtful look on her face, rather than her usual ‘bossy’ look, and figured that she hadn’t come for that.

 

They walked in silence for a minute before she spoke. Though only really a moment, it gave Harry ample time to worry about her silence.

 

“Is everything okay Harry?” Hermione finally asked, in an obvious attempt to act casual. He groaned inwardly. Between Ron asking about his late night pickup, his issues falling asleep the night before because of panicked thoughts of the Dursley’s retribution, and now Hermione badgering him, he was beginning to feel as though he were trapped by his family, even though he had escaped. For the briefest of moments, he considered telling her the full tortuous truth, as both her and Ron had indirectly asked about his problems with the Dursleys. He easily quelled the impulse though. Nobody else he knew had to endure the things he did, and he got more than enough attention as the Boy-Who-Lived. He didn’t need his moniker to lengthen to, ‘Boy-Who-Lives-With-Nasty-People’. He didn’t want any more attention, and certainly didn’t want his friends to think less of him because of the way he was treated. He didn’t like misleading his friend, but the alternative was worse.

 

“I’m just tired,” he said, with a not-entirely-fake yawn for emphasis. It wasn’t technically a lie. “It’s just past dawn, and I didn’t sleep much the night before last either.”

 

Hermione nodded slowly. She glanced over at him, though she tried not to look like she was giving him a quick once-over. He decided that he would definitely need to get some Muggle clothes. Dudley’s old clothes made people ask questions, and he just wanted to be left alone. Harry quickened his pace slightly so they would close the small distance between him and the rest of the group, eliminating the pseudo privacy that their distance had afforded her.

 

Not long after, the group arrived at a steep hill which Mr. Weasley indicated was their portkey meeting place. Ron and the twins grumbled as they began to climb the incline, their walk having done little to dispel the early morning fatigue. As Harry crested the top of the hill alongside Mr. Weasley, he saw two people standing close together, holding what appeared to be an old boot.

 

“Amos! Good to see you!” Mr. Weasley called.

 

“Arthur,” the slightly older man said, extending a hand. “Good to see you as well. You’ve made it just in time. About five minutes until the portkey activates.” He looked around at the group, who was scattered about catching their breath from the climb. “All of these yours?”

 

“All but two,” Mr. Weasley said, gesturing to Hermione and Harry. “Hermione Granger and Harry Potter.”

 

“ _ Merlin’s beard, _ ” said Amos, his eyes wide, looking down at Harry. Harry was grateful to see Mr. Weasley wince slightly at having called attention to who his was. “Harry Potter! It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Harry noticed the man’s eyes travel up to his forehead. He was used to it by now, but it still made him feel a bit like a zoo animal.

 

“Nice to meet you, sir,” Harry said, looking away from the wizard’s still bulging eyes.

 

“Amos. Amos Diggory,” he said after a moment. “And this is my son Cedric. I believe you two know each other. He told me all about your exciting quidditch match last year.”

 

“Cedric is an excellent seeker,” Harry replied lamely, his eyes still on the ground.

 

“Indeed he is,” Mr. Diggory said, with a smile for his son, who was attempting to hide his embarrassment.

 

Mr. Weasley rescued Harry from the situation when he looked at his watch. “Just about time,” he said, gesturing everyone over. “Everyone grab hold.” Harry obediently touched the least grimy part of the boot that he could manage, and felt very silly. They stood for a few moments, a great clump of people standing silently on a hilltop, a grimy boot between them. Mr. Weasley began to count down, and when he reached ‘one’, Harry felt an odd sensation in his stomach, and was jerked forward.

 

He hadn’t known what to expect,  having never traveled by portkey , but he certainly hadn’t been expecting the mess of colors and howling wind as they all jostled each other around in the bizarre space. Without warning, he felt his feel slam into solid ground, and collapsed with Ron on top of him. Harry quickly staggered to his feet, out from under his friend. He looked around, and saw that only Mr. Weasley, Mr. Diggory, and Cedric had managed to remain standing. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were all getting slowly to their feet. Fred and George were pushing each other over every time one tried to stand.

 

“Ottery St. Catchpole group,” said a tired voice, with the dull tones of someone who has been repeating the same phrase until it lost all meaning. “Please make your way over here. We will locate your campsite for you.”

 

“Hello Basil,” Mr. Weasley said cheerfully to the haggard looking wizard.

 

“Morning Arthur,” the squat wizard named Basil replied, only slightly less tiredly than before. “Glad to see you get to attend the cup. We’ve been here all night…” He trailed off, staring blankly at the clipboard.

 

“Sorry to hear that,” Mr. Weasley said after a moment. “Do you know where our campsite is?”

 

“Hm? Oh yes, sorry.” Harry looked around while Basil looked through the parchments on his clipboard. He saw other zones with rope around each one in a large circle. He watched another, smaller group appear clutching a rolled up newspaper. “First field over that way,” he heard Basil say. “You’re looking for Mr. Roberts.”

 

“Thanks, Basil. Good luck,” Mr. Weasley said, gesturing for everyone to follow him, and calling to Fred and George to quit making a scene.

 

Harry’s feet were throbbing as they approached the misty field. A small stone building appeared suddenly in front of them, with an elderly man standing out front. He showed them the way to their campsite, after Hermione helped Mr. Weasley figure out exactly how much money to give the attendant. Harry was half listening as the old man talked about all the foreigners that were setting up camp in the field, and how bizarrely they acted. Mr. Weasley was doing his best to appear both interested, and surprised by the things Mr. Roberts was saying. Harry noted the strange tents they passed on the way to their campsite, and wondered how Mr. Roberts thought all the wizards were only foreigners. 

 

His question was quickly answered, as a short wizard with a ministry badge walked up out of the mist, and quickly obliviated Mr. Roberts. Harry had a distaste for the memory modification charm after the revelations about Lockhart, but he could certainly see why it was necessary here. He wondered why they had a Muggle tend the field in the first place.

 

Harry marveled at the lavish campsites they passed on the way to their campsite, which only served to increase his concern about poor Mr. Roberts and his memory. He felt a pang of sympathy for the old man, and hoped he would be okay after the Cup was over. As they arrived at their empty campsite, Mr. Weasley dropped the pack he had been carrying, and turned to address the group.

 

“We’re not supposed to be doing magic when we’re all out in great numbers like this,” Mr. Weasley said, gesturing to the obviously magical tents and campfires around them. He faltered a bit at the sight, but continued. “Well, we’ll follow the rules anyway. We will just have to put up the tents by hand!” He said with an enthusiasm clearly felt by no-one else in the group. He pulled two large canvas tents out of his pack, and handed the smaller of the two over to Hermione and Ginny. He turned to Harry, holding some metal stakes in one hand. “How do you reckon we should start?” He asked Harry excitedly.

 

Harry fought the small surge of panic at being unable to answer the question. The Dursleys had certainly never taken him on their camping trips, electing to lock him in his room instead. Being stuck in a room for a whole weekend was not something Harry enjoyed, though he did like knowing he wouldn’t have to see a single Dursley for a whole weekend. Plus he usually got to eat a much more substantial meal when they returned, as they knew he hadn’t eaten. They were also usually in good spirits, for them anyway, after some time away from him. They hadn’t been camping in years though, not since Dudley had grown too large for them all to fit in their large tent.

 

“Uh…” Harry managed, silently lamenting the effect the thought of the Dursleys had on him. He felt like he had molasses where his brain should be every time they came up in his mind, and it took him some time to come back to reality. Growing frustrated with himself, he couldn’t help but wish he didn’t have all these issues. It certainly wasn’t the first time he had wished so, and he suspected it wouldn’t be the last. He looked up at Mr. Weasley, who was waiting patiently for a response. “I’m not sure, sir,” he said quietly, looking away from the older man. Harry barely managed not to flinch when Mr. Weasley placed a hand on his shoulder, but the effort of it made his whole body tense up.

 

“No worries Harry,” Mr. Weasley said as he removed his hand from Harry’s shoulder, and looked over at Ginny and Hermione, who had enlisted Ron to help them set up. “We’ll just follow their lead then, sound good?” Harry nodded mutely, accepting one corner of the tent as Mr. Weasley offered it to him.

 

The sun was well into the sky by the time both tents had been erected. The group stood slightly back to admire their handiwork, before Mr. Weasley gestured them towards the larger tent for a ‘tour’. Harry estimated they could all fit, though it might be a bit cozy. He followed Hermione through the open tent flap and his mouth fell open in surprise. He felt a little silly for being shocked, considering all the time he had spent in the magical world, but he supposed Mr. Weasley’s admonitions of restricting magic use had kept Harry from considering the possibility. The tent easily held the seven of them, with a bathroom and kitchen off to one side. “It’s bigger on the inside,” he murmured aloud, looking around. He heard Hermione giggle next to him, and felt his face flush.

 

“Sorry,” she said, covering her smile with her hand. “I wasn’t laughing at you. What you said reminded me of an old show my parents used to watch on the telly.” 

Harry tried to smile back at her, though he’d never seen a television show beyond glimpses of Aunt Petunia's daytime shows as he was cleaning. After the short tour, they all got to work getting everything settled in the two tents. Harry tried to choose a bed that wasn’t completely covered in cat hair, but gave it up as a bad job.

 

Hermione and Ginny left with Fred to go get some water for the campsite, while the rest of them began gathering fallen branches from the nearby cluster of trees. Mr. Weasley handed Harry his box of matches after burning through half the box in amazement. They were getting hungry, and it would be a little while before the fire was hot enough to cook on. The fire was nearly ready when the other group returned with their water.

 

“Took you long enough,” George groused to Ron as they walked up, buckets in hand.

 

“Ran into Seamus and Dean,” Ron said, setting his large bucket down with a groan.

 

Mr. Weasley had just places his cooking pan on the fire, and put in some eggs and sausage when the elder Weasley siblings came walking up. 

 

“Just apparated in,” Percy said, pointedly ignoring Fred’s very obvious eye roll.

 

“Smells good,” Charlie said, rubbing his hands together. Mr. Weasley added a second pan to the fire for the new arrivals, whistling as he cooked. Harry recognized Charlie from the Weasley’s picture from their trip to Egypt. The second oldest Weasley was an impressive sight. Short, stocky, and muscular, he cut an imposing figure to the skinny Harry. He had a large angry burn on one of his arms, and a few scars marred his face, though his friendly smile kept him from looking too intimidating. Charlie came over to introduce himself to Harry, when they were interrupted when a tall man in yellow and black robes came bounding up, calling Mr. Weasley’s name.

 

“Ludo!” Mr. Weasley called back, waving the man over. “Ludo Bagman,” Mr. Weasley said by way of introduction. “He’s the whole reason we’re all here.”

 

Mr. Bagman smiled at the group and waved, “So this is your family then Arthur?”

 

Percy quickly stood up, and offered his hand. “Percy Weasley, sir. Pleasure to meet you.”

 

Mr. Weasley continued the introductions, everybody waving as their name was mentioned. Harry was slightly relieved to notice only a small reaction from Mr. Bagman when he was introduced. Better than the usual people who immediately looked up at his scar.

 

Harry tuned out the conversation as Mr. Bagman began asking Mr. Weasley about placing some bets, though he couldn’t help but notice Fred and George as they began whispering to each other, and piling coins on the ground between them. He grabbed a small portion of sausage and eggs, and retreated a small distance away from the fire to eat. The middle of summer was far too warm to be cozied up to such a large fire. He sat down next to Hermione and Ron, who had each grabbed their own plates of food.

 

The ate in relative silence, listening as Mr. Weasley chastised the twins for spending all their money on, “a fool’s bet.” Harry noticed that Mr. Bagman had seemed all too happy to pocket their money, despite their age. Mr. Weasley was speaking highly of Ludo Bagman to the group, but Harry now suspected at least some of it was due to Mr. Bagman’s position at the Ministry. Not to mention the World Cup tickets.

 

“Mum will go spare if she finds out Fred and George bet all their money on Quidditch,” Ron said, leaning over closer to Harry so he could speak over the dull roar of the other campsites, which had all become more raucous as the day went on. “Though she might go easy on them if she thinks it’ll keep them from opening that joke shop.”

 

“Why’s she so against their shop?” Harry asked, somewhat surprised that Mrs. Weasley wasn’t being supportive of the twin’s dream.

 

“I think she wants everyone in the family to have jobs at the Ministry really,” Ron explained, finishing off his second helping of eggs. “Though Bill working for Gringotts seems to be okay, though she doesn’t like the more dangerous parts of curse-breaking.”

 

“Surely she doesn’t think Fred and George have any interest in the Ministry,” Hermione joined in, also leaning close to be heard. “I would think an interest in being entrepreneurs would make her happy. They only seem to like hitting bludgers and getting into mischief. It’s good for them to have a goal.”

 

“She might be happy if they wanted to open a bookstore or something,” Ron replied. 

 

Harry backed away from the close proximity by masking it in a stretch, and standing up to take his dishes to the kitchen inside. He automatically grabbed Hermione’s empty plate, but left Ron his, as he was grabbing a third helping. Hermione thanked him, before admonishing Ron to leave some for the others, noting that Bill and Charlie hadn’t eaten yet. Harry grabbed a few other empty plates eliciting a small smile from Ginny, and headed to the tent. The noise of the campground died away as the tent flap closed, to Harry’s relief. He suspected there was some sort of charm on the tent, as the noise had almost completely died away. He hadn’t noticed how the crowd and the noise was bothering him, but now that it was gone, he felt much better. The feeling didn’t last long though, as he thought again about why only he seemed to have these problems. Ron didn’t seem to mind the crowds, and the noise, nor did Hermione or any of the other Weasleys.

 

Harry grabbed the small bucket of water next to the sink, and poured it in. He began vigorously washing the dishes as he lamented his issues. He just wanted to be left alone, he didn’t want people looking at his scar, and he didn’t want people hugging or grabbing him. He considered it a moment, and admitted that he actually just wished that he didn’t always tense up when Mrs. Weasley hugged him, or on the rare occasion that Hermione did so. It made him extremely happy that Mrs. Weasley was always so pleased to see him. She was the first and only person to ever greet him in such a way. Hagrid always had a hearty hello for him, but Mrs. Weasley seemed to treat him almost like one of her own.

 

That thought brought a slight pause to Harry’s cleaning, as he imagined what it would be like to live with the Weasleys all the time. He wondered if he’d be allowed to do magic while he cleaned. That’d certainly make life a lot easier. He expected Mrs. Weasley would appreciate the break that having him around to do the chores would offer. It’d be much more bearable doing all the work he usually did if it was all appreciated. He knew he’d never get anything like that from the Dursleys.

 

Once again, the thought of his Aunt and Uncle seemed to turn his mind to mud, as he began to clean faster in frustration. He had already finished the dishes, and had moved to sweeping the surprisingly wooden floors of the tent with a broom he found stashed by the bathroom. There was a lot of cat hair on the floor as well, which made it a little more difficult to get it as clean as he preferred. He had begun his second pass of the floor when he was startled by a voice.

 

“Harry?” Hermione said tentatively from the small entranceway. “Are you okay?”

 

Harry concealed his annoyance at being asked the same question twice in one day. “Yeah,” he said smiling at her. “Trying to get rid of some of the cat hair, make it a little cleaner in here.” Instead of being reassured, she frowned further at him, letting the tent flap close behind her.

 

“You were scowling at the floor as you swept,” she said quietly, not taking her eyes off him.

 

The scrutiny made him extremely anxious, and he looked away from her concerned gaze. He tried to gather his thoughts, jumbled as they were. He wanted nothing more than to not have to talk about the Dursleys with anyone, let alone one of his closest friends. He just wanted to forget about them, and enjoy this once in a lifetime opportunity. He furiously quelled his rising panic. He didn’t want his closest friends to know about his treatment at the hands of the Dursleys, but there were only so many times he could freak out about it in one day before he began to get angry with himself. He could handle it on his own, but he knew Hermione was the smartest of them, and the fact that she had approached him twice meant she felt like she was on to something. He knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t let anything go until she had satisfied her curiosity. He didn’t want to be having this conversation, and hoped he could satiate her curiosity with some of the truth.

 

“Please keep it to yourself,” he said, feeling unaccountably vulnerable admitting even some of the truth. “I didn’t ask the Dursley’s if I could come,” he said quickly, still looking down at the floor.

 

“But why not?” Hermione asked, sounding mildly perplexed.

 

“You know they don’t like magic,” Harry said, glancing at her to see her nod. He had told his friends simply that the Dursley’s didn’t like magic, not the extent of their dislike. “If I’d asked them if Ron’s family could floo over to take me to the Quidditch World Cup, they’d have a fit. I expect I’ll be in pretty big trouble next summer for running off.”

 

He could see Hermione digest what he said, and squint her eyes in thought. He hoped that she left it at that. She knew that he didn’t like talking about his family, and he was more than a little annoyed that she kept bringing it up. “It’s too late to do anything about it I suppose,” she said finally. “But you really shouldn’t antagonize them if you can help it,” she added, a trace of her bossiness coming out. “I know you said they don’t like magic, but sneaking away is bound to have consequences whether magic is involved or not,” she admonished him.

 

Harry stared at her blankly for a moment, her words slowly sinking in.  _ He _ shouldn’t antagonize  _ them _ ? A brief flicker of anger at her words died as he considered her statement a little longer. He knew now he had used magic to set the snake on his cousin at the zoo when they were much younger. The event which had triggered the Dursley’s increased resentment of him. There was also the time when his Aunt Marge had come over, and he had actually argued with her when she had begun talking badly about his parents. He had a rough couple of weeks after that, even after his Aunt had left. He knew what the Dursleys were like, and yet he continued to do things that made his time there more difficult. Perhaps there was some truth to what Hermione said. Maybe he wasn’t really as compliant as he liked to believe.

 

“I suppose you’re right,” he said quietly after a moment, feeling very tired all of the sudden. “I just really wanted to see the Quidditch World Cup. We don’t get a chance like this every day,” he said, only a partial lie. All he had  _ really _ wanted was to do was get away from Privet Drive. He glanced up at Hermione to see her face soften only slightly.

 

“Well, like I said, it’s too late to do anything about it. You had might as well enjoy yourself I suppose. I promise I won’t tell anyone. I expect it would make Ron’s parents very uncomfortable to know they came to get you without permission.” She turned to leave. “I doubt you’ll get the cat smell out just by sweeping, so come on out soon. You missed some interesting conversations between Mr. Bagman, Mr. Weasley, and Mr. Crouch, who showed up just as you came inside.”

 

“I’ll be right out,” Harry said, beginning to sweep again, hoping that she’d leave him be for a little bit. “Almost finished.”

 

Hermione left without saying anything else, for which Harry was grateful. He didn’t like what she had said about how he acted towards the Dursleys, but it did make a weird bit of sense. He had always tried to ignore their jabs about being a worthless troublemaker, which seemed to be their favorite descriptor of him. It fit well with the lie they had crafted to cover his yearly absences to Hogwarts. Hermione was right though, he did cause trouble from time to time.

 

He sighed as he finished sweeping. He didn’t want his time at the World Cup to be tainted by weighty thoughts of his home life. He hoped Hermione had satisfied herself with their discussion, and would leave him to try and enjoy himself. She had been completely right about one thing though, there would certainly be consequences next summer.

 

Harry placed the broom back where it belonged once he had swept the large mound of hair into a small bin in the kitchen. He took a moment to gather himself before heading back out to join his friends. Sure it was noisy, and he’d been pestered a lot by Hermione, but this was the Quidditch World Cup! Despite the way he felt at the moment, he was also still extremely excited to watch a professional Quidditch match. Ron regularly talked about them when they were at school, but seeing one in person would be a whole different experience. He did his best to hold on to that excitement as he stepped out of the tent.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry was relieved to find it easier than expected to keep his excitement up as he rejoined his friends outside the tent. He glimpsed Ron over by the edge of their campsite talking to Bill, while wearing a number of bright green souvenirs. A small shamrock hat danced across the top of his head, ruffling his untidy red hair even further, and he had a spinning green flower pinned to his shirt. He appeared to be holding something in his hand, though Harry couldn’t see what from his place outside the tent. His curiosity peaked, he walked over to Bill and Ron to get a better look at Ron’s souvenirs.

 

“What’s that?” Harry asked as he walked up to the pair, he was surprised to find that Ron was holding a very small man in the palm of his hand. He was also happy to note that it wasn’t at all difficult to sound like he hadn’t just been examining the least favorite aspect of his life.

 

Ron turned to him, moving his hand closer so Harry could get a better look. The small man was thin, with an almost Snape-like nose and very thick black eyebrows. He noticed that the man was wearing quidditch robes that were distinctly at odds with Ron’s other purchases. Apparently this man played for Bulgaria. The small man swatted at Bill’s finger when he poked at it again.

 

“This is a miniature Viktor Krum,” Ron said happily, holding him a little higher. The small Viktor Krum quit swatting at Bill, and puffed out his skinny chest, adopting a proud stance. Bill prodded it once more, and knocked the small Krum over. “All right,” Ron said half laughing, half irritatedly. “Knock it off. He’ll run off if you keep it up.” Bill laughed, and departed towards where Charlie and Mr. Weasley were chatting by the dying fire.

 

“Who’s Viktor Krum?” Harry asked when Bill had left

 

“Only the greatest seeker in the whole Quidditch League,” Ron said reverently. “Made seeker for Bulgaria at only eighteen. He’s still in school too. Can you imagine…” Ron trailed off, lost in a fantasy of crowds cheering his name.

 

Hermione came up only a moment later, snapping Ron out of his fantasy.

 

“Were you telling Harry about what Mr. Crouch was saying?” she asked, her eye on Ron’s tiny Viktor.

 

“What about it?” Ron groused, “he didn’t say anything that Percy hasn’t been prattling on about all summer.”

 

Harry thought back to Ron’s complaints back on the stairs of the Burrow the night before. “You mean the missing ministry employee, and whatever secret it is that Percy is in on?”

 

“That’s exactly it,” Hermione said, looking disgustedly away from the miniature seeker, who had begun making kissing faces at her. “Apparently the missing woman’s name is Bertha Jorkins. She’s been missing for over a month now, and Mr. Bagman doesn’t seem the least bit concerned, even though she’s from his department.”

 

Hermione’s voice faded into the distance when Harry heard her say ‘Bertha Jorkins’. A hazy half-memory came flitting to the surface of his mind.

 

_ He thought he remembered a man. An old man, standing by a fireplace. Or maybe he was near a fireplace. There were people talking. Two of them. Talking about Bertha Jorkins. _

 

Harry tried hard to remember what they had been saying. He couldn’t remember the words, only a high pitched, grating voice. He tried to focus back on the fireplace, something he felt he could remember somewhat clearly.

 

_ Standing next to the fireplace was a short man. He had disheveled brown hair, with a bald spot in the back. His voice nasally and pleading. _

 

_ Pettegrew. _

 

Harry dug deeper, trying hard to remember anything else.

 

_ He remembered a chair. And a rug. But the rug was moving. Not a rug. _

 

_ A snake. _

 

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin as the snake in his memory lunged at him, mouth wide.

 

“Harry?” Hermione said concernedly, trailing off from whatever she had been saying about some secret that Ludo Bagman had been alluding to.

 

“It’s nothing,” he said quickly, hoping he was telling the truth. “I thought I’d heard the name Bertha Jorkins before.”

 

Hermione gave him a quizzical look. Harry could almost see the struggle within her to ask him about it, but was appreciative to see her let it go.

 

“Well anyway,” she said, “Mr. Bagman kept talking about some sort of diplomatic initiative that Mr. Crouch kept trying to avoid mentioning. If I had to guess, I would say that’s what’s been so hush-hush with the Ministry, but I don’t see why diplomatic relations to other magical societies would be kept a secret.”

 

“I’ll just be glad when it’s over,” Ron grumbled, clearly bored of any conversation about the Ministry. “Come on Harry, Let’s get you some proper Ireland gear.”

 

Hermione looked a little put-out, but let them go without complaint, as she headed over to where Ginny was sitting alone. Ron led Harry down the trodden path that led away from their campsite to a clearing where many people had gathered. Harry saw a group of wizards that were followed by large floating trays. They were each shouting the names of their wares, and showing them off to all who looked their way. Harry patted the pocket of his pants where he had stashed his bag of money. He felt the satisfying ‘clink’ of many coins banging against each other. 

 

Ron made a beeline for one of the vendors, gesturing Harry over. As he approached, he saw that this was the one selling the tiny Viktor Krums. Harry looked closer, and began to laugh as two of the Krums had started to fight. More of the miniatures joined the fray, and to the dismay of the saleswizard, toppled the tray over, spilling the fighting Krums into the grass. Harry stepped gingerly around the pile, and over to a hat vendor. He purchased a green hat to match Ron’s, which, as soon as he placed it on his head, began dancing in time with Ron’s.

 

His attention was again grabbed by another vendor who was shouting very loudly, and surrounded by a large crowd of people. Harry and Ron bumped their way up to the front, where they saw a tray full of polished brass binoculars. Ron let out a low whistle through his teeth.

 

“Omnioculars here!” the portly saleswizard called to the crowd. “You can rewind, slow down, get a play by play, call up player statistics, and zoom in close enough to read the serial numbers on the brooms! A steal at just ten galleons!”

 

Harry had yet to get a handle on the wizard currency. He’d never bought anything with muggle money either, but had a general idea of how much the basics cost. Even if that was only because the Dursleys liked to remind him how much he was costing them. He did, however, know that ten galleons was quite a bit of money, even for such an interesting magical item. Harry glanced over to Ron, who was gazing longingly at the omnioculars. Harry had grabbed enough money to buy himself, Ron, and Hermione each a pair, but he doubted Ron would let him just buy a pair for them without complaint. Wishing dearly to avoid another confrontation, he dragged himself away from the omnioculars, and over to the vendor selling the green flowers. He purchased one for himself, and pinned it to his shirt in the same place Ron had his. They grinned at each other as their hats and flowers danced and spun in time.

 

He looked around at some of the other items for sale, making a stop at a saleswizard who was advertising ever-sparklers. He was holding two in each hand, waving them about, leaving green glittering trails behind them. The man boasted that each wand-shaped sparkler would shine for a full two weeks after being lit, after which they would turn a solid green as a keepsake for your home. Harry was considering buying one when a very loud gong sounded off in the distance. The crowd began to clear out as colored lanterns sprung into existence, lighting a path away from the campsites. He and Ron hurried back to their group, who were all sporting some memorabilia of their own, except for Fred and George, who had no money left to spend.

 

“Everybody here?” shouted Mr. Weasley, counting heads. “Off we go!”

 

It wasn’t long before they were in sight of the impressive stadium. Their short walk had taken them through the woods, and eventually out the other side. By the time they had arrived, the atmosphere of excitement had engulfed everyone around them, Harry included. People sang, laughed, danced, and joked as they walked towards the titanic golden walls of the stadium. Harry laughed along with Fred and George, who had bewitched Ron’s hat to breakdance atop his head. Ron was pleased rather than irritated, as the new dance was much more lively than the one it had been initially enchanted with. As they grew closer to the magnificent structure, Harry couldn’t help but marvel at the towering walls that shone bright in the midday sun.

 

“It can seat nearly a hundred thousand,” Mr. Weasley said, having noted Harry’s awestruck face. “The Ministry had to work hard all year to build it. They have...recently...become very interested in further developing their relationship with our foreign magical counterparts.” 

  
Their group, along with a considerable amount of other attendees, approached a massive set of doors, and took their place at the end of an orderly queue. A pair of young ministry employees stood to either side of the door, taking tickets as they were thrust upon them. When Mr. Weasley was finally able to approach, the witch on the left took his tickets, and counted the group behind him.

 

“Those are some prime seats there Arthur,” she said as she handed the stubs back. “Well done, hope you enjoy yourself. Top box is right up the first set of stairs on your left there, follow them all the way up.”

 

“Thanks Maggie,” Mr. Weasley replied with a smile, before gesturing the group to follow him, and leading them up the stairs. Harry felt as though his head was on a swivel, trying to see every bit of the opulent stadium. The stairs were a bright purple, with tapestries along each side of the wall that bore all the teams in the Quidditch World Class League. Ron began gesturing excitedly as they passed a tapestry bearing the Chudley Cannons’ sigil. He dropped his arms and glared when Fred suggested that was the closest Chudley would ever be to a World Cup. George and Charlie laughed at this, but Ron’s excitement wasn’t so easily diminished.

 

Quite suddenly, the stairs ended, and the large stairwell opened up to clear box, set halfway between the tall goal posts on either side of the field. About thirty comfortable chairs sat in three rows in the box, a few of the seats were already filled, but the front row was completely empty. Mr. Weasley shepherded his group into the empty first row, and took his place at the end of the row, nearest the entrance. Harry goggled at the scene in front of him. It truly seemed as though a hundred thousand witches and wizards were milling about in the stadium, making it seem as though it were pulsing with movement. He pressed up against the glass, looking down below the box, noting just how high up they were.

 

After reading a few of the advertisements on the large board directly in front of them, Harry looked around the box to see who they would be sharing the space with. He saw the Weasley’s getting situated, with Mr. Weasley standing at the end of their row, talking with a small group of people. A few people sat in the upper corner, talking quietly amongst themselves. Harry could catch snippets of their conversation, though he couldn’t recognize their language. He shifted slightly to look behind him, and was surprised to see Dobby sitting in the next to last seat.

 

“Dobby?” Harry asked incredulously. “What are you doing here?”

 

He saw Ron and Hermione look over when they heard him speak.

 

“My name is Winky, Harry Potter sir,” the house elf said through its hands, which were plastered over its face. Harry could see one of Winky’s large eyes looking at him through a crack in it’s fingers. Harry was unsurprised that the elf knew of him by his scar, as many people did.

 

“Sorry,” Harry said quickly, taking in the elf’s appearance. He could now see that this elf was a bit smaller than Dobby, though it had much larger ears. He quickly turned around, a little embarrassed at having misrecognized the house elf.

 

The box began to gradually fill over the next quarter hour. Harry could hear many different languages being spoken. He figured there must be witches and wizards from all over the globe taking their seats in the top box. He felt a little intimidated to be sitting close to, what were likely to be, some very important people. He was oddly relieved to see a boy younger than him arrive, with who he assumed was the boy’s father. Harry felt less out of place with a few other people his age in the box, besides his group. A few more families arrived, taking spots in the middle row, one just next to Winky. Harry assumed she was saving the seat next to her for whoever she worked for. He saw Mr. Bagman stride in talking animatedly with the group he was with, waving to Harry and Mr. Weasley as he took his seat. Harry was about to turn around and look back out at the stands when the newest arrival caught his eye.

 

A middle aged man in green robes had just walked in, talking quietly to the willowy young witch next to him. It was the witch who had grabbed his attention and held it so firmly. He was confident in his thought that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She appeared to be a little older than him, but he doubted she was out of school yet. Harry couldn’t help but stare at her, taking in her silvery-blonde hair, the like of which he had never seen before. He had a nagging feeling in the back of his mind to call out to her, to say something, but he quelled the feeling quickly. He couldn’t stand the mortification of everybody looking at him, and what could someone like him say to her anyway? He surely had nothing worth saying.

 

He saw a number of the other men in the box turn to look at her, the Weasleys, save for Mr. Weasley, included. She appeared not to notice though, as she gestured to two open seats on the top row at the end, directly opposite where Harry was sitting. Harry looked away, deciding to try to avoid looking her direction again. He knew if he did, he’d want to say something to her again, and he didn’t want to look a fool. He heard Ron grunt as Hermione elbowed him in the side sharply.

 

“Close your mouth, you neanderthal,” she snapped at him.

 

“Ima whu...”Ron replied intelligently, his mouth still slightly open, and his eyes lingering on the beautiful witch.

 

“And sit down,” Hermione said as she elbowed him again. Ron had half stood, his hand on the back of his chair.

 

Ron was broken out of his stupor by a loud boisterous voice that Harry recognized immediately. Cornelius Fudge strode into the box, talking loudly to a group of people that were following him. He greeted a few of the closer people to the door, his gaze lingering briefly on the silvery-blonde witch. After shaking hands with a few nearby people, he gestured grandly, getting everyone’s attention in the box. The conversations died quickly, as everyone in the box gave him their attention.

 

“I wanted to thank you all for being our honored guests to the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup,” Fudge said, smiling to the occupants of the top box. “We are overjoyed to host the Ministers from our neighboring countries, in the hopes that we will be able to continue a dialogue as friends in the near future. As you know, this year we have…” he paused briefly, glancing over at Harry’s row briefly before continuing, “special events planned that will help further cooperation and coordination between our wizarding societies.”

 

Fudge gestured to the man in the green robes as he continued, “We are, however, missing Minister Bellerose from France, as he could not attend due to the 50th anniversary of France's liberation from Grindelwald. He has sent along his good friend and Ambassador, Mr. Delacour. ” Mr. Delacour smiled briefly, and waved to the other attendees. “The match will be starting soon, please let the staff know if there is anything you require.”

 

Harry tuned out, as Fudge began talking to each group of people in turn,  making introductions and chatting away. Harry glanced over as Fudge greeted Mr. Weasley, though with less enthusiasm than the other people he had greeted. His movement apparently caught Fudge’s eye, and he quickly made his way down their row towards Harry. He winced as Fudge loudly called his name.

 

“Harry Potter, so good to see you again,” Fudge said as he offered his hand to Harry. Everyone else in the box, besides Hermione and the Weasleys, all turned to look at Fudge and Harry. A murmur of whispers broke out, and Harry heard is name repeated in various accents.

 

Harry fought a losing battle against the flush on his face at the attention, and hoped his scar wasn’t too visible. “Hello Minister,” he said, as steadily as he could manage, shaking the offered hand. He tried very hard not to notice that the beautiful witch was now looking interestedly at him, while talking quietly with Mr. Delacour. He also noticed a glare coming from Percy, who had been completely snubbed by Fudge when he had tried to introduce himself.

 

“Glad you could make it Harry,” Fudge said as he released his hand, “and in the top box too! I’d have invited you myself of course, if we weren’t hosting all the other Heads of State this year. I’ve had my hands full just trying to communicate with some of them. Speaking of which…” he trailed off as he looked behind Harry at Winky, who was still hiding her face behind her large hands. “No sign of Barty Crouch yet then?”

 

“Er,” Harry mumbled, “No sir.”

 

“Please Harry, call me Cornelius,” Fudge said with a smile that, to Harry, seemed a little forced. Harry was spared having to reply, as a new arrival caught the Minister’s attention.

 

“Ah, Lucius Malfoy,” Fudge said as he rushed back down their aisle to the entrance. “Good of you to join us!”

 

Harry looked over at the elder Malfoy, hoping against hope that he was alone. His stomach sank as he looked to the new arrivals. He saw Draco, looking politely interested in what Fudge was talking about, standing next to a severe woman who Harry assumed was his mother. Though he hated the Malfoys, he was glad for their arrival, as it had taken some of the attention off himself.

 

Ludo Bagman stood as the Minister finished speaking with the Malfoys. “Ready to go Minister?”

 

“Ready when you are Ludo,” Fudge said, settling into a seat.

 

Ludo pulled his wand from his yellow and black robes and pointed it at his throat. “ _ Sonorus _ ,” He said quietly. A small white burst from his wand hit him in the throat, and he began to speak in a voice that magically boomed over the din of the humongous crowd.

 

“Ladies and gentleman, witches and wizards from all over the globe...England welcomes you to the final match of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!”

 

Bagman paused, allowing for the deafening cheer to die out a bit before continuing.

 

“Our two finalists have fought long and hard over the entire Quidditch season for their shot at the championship. Wands up for Bulgaria and Ireland!”

 

Another roar from the crowd came, louder than the first. Chants of ‘Bulgaria Bulgaria” and “Green Green Ireland” began in the crowd. Even with his magically amplified voice, Bagman had to shout a little to be heard over the chants.

 

“Without further ado, it’s my very great pleasure to announce the arrival of…” he paused for dramatic effect, and the crowd hushed a little in anticipation. “The Bulgarian National Team Mascots!”

 

The mass of red onlookers began to cheer, as Harry saw some people move onto the field. Harry leaned forward to get a better view, an action he saw mimicked by everyone else in his row. Even from his high perch in the top box, Harry saw the silver hair and ivory skin of the women on the field. Harry had an impulse to look back at the beautiful woman in the box, but managed to master the impulse, and focused on the women on the field. Music had begun playing, and the women had begun to dance, gradually moving faster and faster. Harry found the dancing to be entertaining enough, if not terribly interesting. He was surprised when he suddenly saw a few spectators leap from their seats onto the pitch. They ran towards the dancing women, some with arms outstretched, some apparently flexing their muscles, and some attempting to join the dance. The organizers seemed to have foreseen this, as some security witches came up, and levitated the wizards back to their seats.

 

“Veela,” he heard Hermione mutter to herself, as she glanced around the top box. Harry took the opportunity to look around as well. He saw most of the men of the box enraptured by the performance. Many had open mouths and a glazed expression on their face, a few of them had stood, and were leaning forward over their seat in front of them. Fred and George had their faces pressed to the clear class of the box. Charlie and Bill had managed to keep their seats, though they also wore the dazed expression. Ron appeared as though he was going to try and ram his way out of the box, but he settled down a little when Hermione directed a sharp ‘ _ Ronald _ ’ at him, and stepped on his foot. Harry looked quickly away, when he saw Hermione shift her attention from Ron to himself, an appraising look upon her face.

 

Harry glanced about the box once again, noticing that both the younger children and the women in the box appeared to be only mildly interested in the show. He glanced quickly at the woman in the corner, who he now figured to also be a Veela, whatever that was. She appeared to be quite bored, and slightly put out by the show. Mr. Delacour had an expression of mild interest, though Harry could tell he wasn’t captivated like the others. To Harry’s dismay, Mr. Delacour noticed Harry looking at them. He was surprised when the French ambassador smiled at him, and directed her attention to him. He looked away before he could meet her eyes, his face burning.

 

As the music ended, Hermione put her hands on Ron’s shoulders, as he had once again risen, and had plastered his face to the glass wall of the box. The crowd seemed to grumble in disappointment, though the number of people leaping to the field had dwindled. The large group of Veela moved to the side of the field to raucous applause. Harry jumped when Ludo Bagman’s voice boomed once again.

 

“And now, please put your hands together for the Irish National Team Mascots!”

 

A noticeably tamer round of applause met the announcement, as many people in the crowd were still focused on the group of Veela, who were simply sitting along the edge of the field. The disappointment didn’t last long as Harry heard gasps from all around him as a brilliant green and gold comet flew out of the sky and into the stadium. The cheering grew loud again, this time though, the green spectators did the majority of the shouting. The comet did some impressive acrobatics, splitting apart and reforming multiple times as it soared around and through the goal hoops. For it’s finale it traced a large glowing green shamrock upright in the air, as the golden part of the comet swirled faster and faster around it. As the comet became a tornado of golden light around the shamrock, it exploded in a shower of large golden coins. There was a roar from the crowd as the onlookers were pelted with the gold. The coins sounded like large hail on the top of the box, and Harry noticed Ron staring longingly up at the roof, where small piles were forming.

 

“Leprechauns!” Mr. Weasley said with a laugh, as he applauded along with the rest of the onlookers. The shimmering shamrock dissolved into small floating people, who gradually floated down to the field, and took seats opposite the Veela. The crowd had largely descended into chaos, as people scooped as much gold as they could into their pockets. Ron was still looking longingly up at the roof, where piles of the large coins had collected.

 

Ludo Bagman moved to the front of the box, a pair of omnioculars in hand. Using his magically amplified voice, he drew the crowd’s attention for the introductions of the Bulgarian and Irish teams. Harry listened for Krum’s name, wanting to see the supposed prodigy seeker in action. If his minifigure was anything to go by, Harry wasn’t sure Krum would be coordinated enough to fly a lap around the pitch, let alone be a top seeker in the World League. The mini Krum was bowlegged and awkward when he wasn’t glowering at everyone.

 

Krum came soaring out of Bulgaria’s staging area to thunderous applause when Bagman called his name. Harry’s doubts of Krum’s ability vanished in an instant. The lanky man flew impressive aerial acrobatics to even louder cheers from the onlookers. Harry fancied himself a decent enough flyer. No one at Hogwarts had ever beaten him one on one to the snitch, but, compared to Krum, he flew like a tossed brick. It was hard for him to believe they both flew on the same model of Firebolt. Next to him, Ron seemed just as impressed, unconsciously letting out a quiet ‘wow’ when Krum did a triple loop over his team.

 

Bagman announced the Irish team to their own raucous applause, each name earning another cheer from the green section. None of the team did any acrobatics like Krum did as they flew up to match the height of the Bulgarian team. Once the players were in position, Bagman started speaking once more.

 

“Please welcome, all the way from Egypt, Hassan Mostafa! Mr. Mostafa is the Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, and brother to the Egyptian Minister Naeem Mostafa, who is one of our esteemed guests in the top box tonight!”

 

A small skinny man walked onto the field, waving at the cheering crowd. He wore shimmering golden robes that matched the ornate walls of the stadium, and had a glowing silver whistle in his mouth, underneath a large mustache. Under one arm he carried the large wooden crate that held all four quidditch balls, with his Firebolt held in the other hand. He dropped the crate to the ground, and mounted his broom. The stadium grew eerily silent as they waited in anticipation, hundreds of thousands of eyes upon the referee and the box. A ringing note sounded from his silver whistle, and he kicked open the box. The crowd erupted in a cheer as the four balls few up into the air. The Quidditch World Cup was underway.

 

Harry tried to keep his eye on the snitch for as long as possible, but it vanished almost instantly. He tried to watch all the players as they flew around the stadium,but his eyes kept being drawn back to where Krum and the Irish seeker, Aidan Lynch, were flying high above the stadium. Bagman’s play-by-play made it easier to watch the seekers, as he knew the overall score without watching the chasers or looking at the large scoreboard.

 

Ireland was up one hundred to ten when a collective gasp rang through the stadium. Krum and Lynch dove through the middle of the pitch, scattering the chasers that had bunched up there. Harry scanned the ground looking for a glint of the the golden snitch. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t see a single sign of it. Krum and Lynch were at breakneck speed, with Lynch lagging a little behind Krum. If Krum managed to catch the snitch now, the game would go to Bulgaria. Harry heard Hermione gasp as they came ever nearer to the ground, still at top speed. At the very last moment, Krum pulled away from the dive, and out from in front of Lynch. Too late, the Irish seeker saw there was no snitch, and impacted hard upon the grass.

 

“A beautifully executed Wronski Feint by Viktor Krum!” Bagman said excitedly. “I’ve not seen one that perfect from seekers with twice his experience!” A sharp whistle blew from the referee, who was standing next to where Lynch lay motionless. “And that’s a time-out!” announced Bagman. “Medi-witches and wizards will give Aidan Lynch a look, and see if he’s fit to continue play!”

 

After a few potions and couple more minutes in time out, Lynch was back in the air, though following Krum rather cautiously, and from a greater distance. The Irish seeker appeared to be hoping to spot the snitch before his Bulgarian counterpart, rather than outfly him. The Irish chasers seemed to be rallied by the injury to their teammate, and began pummeling the Bulgarian keeper with goal after goal. The Bulgarian team grew frustrated, and began flying far more aggressively.

 

Foul after foul was levied against Bulgaria, each time giving the Irish chasers a shot on the goals. The Bulgarian keeper put up an admirable defence, but was not up to the task of blocking all the penalty shots. After every point, the Leprechauns burst into laughter, pointing mockingly at the Bulgarian team, and their Veela mascots in turn. The Veela were shouting back at the Leprechauns, though from such a distance, Harry couldn’t hear what they were saying. Judging by their gestures though, it was far from polite.

 

After a particularly rough foul by one of the Bulgarian beaters, the Bulgarian team was forced to replace their beater with one of their reserve members. The Bulgarian section groaned and shouted as the players swapped places on the field. As the Bulgarian fans groaned, the Irish fans cheered and laughed. The Leprechauns joined in once again, this time directing crass comments and gestures at the Bulgarians and Veela alike.

 

Harry was astounded to see the Quidditch pitch between the mascots suddenly erupt in flames. He stood up to get a closer view of the Veela who had begun hurling fireballs at the Irish mascots. Harry saw large scaly wings sprout from the enraged Veela, and saw their silver hair change into similar colored feathers. Harry wished dearly that he had bought some omnioculars so he could get a closer look at them. Harry heard Mr. Weasley make a comment from down the row about how looks aren’t everything. Before he could stop himself, he turned to look at the Veela sitting next to Mr. Delacour.

 

He was relieved when he didn’t meet Mr. Delacour’s gaze once again, as the man was whispering quietly to the young witch next to him, gesturing to some omnioculars he had in his hand. Harry could tell that her demeanor had changed a little from what it had been before. She was still sitting almost as she had been, but her long silver hair was now hidden behind her, rather than hanging over her shoulder. Her ivory skin was also flushed red with either embarrassment or anger, Harry couldn’t tell, but she seemed to be trying to ignore it. 

 

Harry quickly turned back around, wanting to give the beautiful witch some privacy. He knew what it was like to be stared at while feeling ashamed for something, and didn’t want to make someone else feel as bad as it made him feel. The security team had broken up the fight between the Leprechauns and the Veela, and were restoring order to the stadium. The Veela had lost their wings and feathers, and were back to their attractive human forms.

 

A sharp whistle resumed play, with Ireland continuing their goal streak even further. When Ireland scored their one hundred and seventieth point, the green crowd went completely wild. At that point, even if Krum caught the snitch, the game would go to Ireland, as Bulgaria had only managed one goal. Harry heard Fred and George cheering Krum on, as the skinny Bulgarian seeker began doing faster laps of the pitch. Harry was so focused on Krum, that he nearly missed Lynch dive towards the Irish goals. Krum however, didn’t miss the actions of his opponent, and dove as well. Krum was positioned closer to the Irish goalposts, though he had lost precious seconds by not having sighted the snitch first. Both sides of the crowd were shouting, the Irish side cheering on Lynch, the Bulgarian side shouting at Krum to avoid the snitch. The two seekers were streaks of green and maroon as they both opened up their brooms to top speed.

 

Harry could tell the Krum was leading on Lynch, his dive straight down being assisted by gravity. He could also tell that Krum was going to have to pull up before he got to the snitch to avoid colliding with the earth the way Lynch had. The shouting in the stadium reached a fever pitch as the two seekers drew in nearer, both with arms outstretched.

 

The cheers turned to gasps and groans as Krum slammed into the ground, bouncing a few times before coming to rest a few metres from where he impacted the pitch. A hush fell on the ground as he lay still, facedown in the grass. Even Ludo Bagman stopped commentating as he looked through his omnioculars at the still form of Krum. A group of medi-witches and wizards ran over to check on Krum, the referee once again calling play to a halt. The first witch to reach Krum gingerly turned him over, and abruptly stood again in surprise.

 

“I don’t believe it,” whispered Bagman, who’s voice still projected over the stadium, even as a whisper.. “Krum has the snitch!” He announced, back at with his normal enthusiasm. “He’s unconscious, but it’s clutched in his hand! Krum gets the snitch and ends the match one hundred and sixty to one hundred and seventy! Ireland is our four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup champions!”

 

The green section went mental, but not nearly as crazy as their mascots. The Leprechauns flew into the air, forming much larger versions of their rude gestures and words from before. Harry wasn’t exactly sure what all of the gestures were, but it enraged the Veela once again. They wasted no time in hurling dozens of fireballs at them, again having sprouted wings and feathers. As the two sets of mascots fought, the fire and sparks stopped in a circle around the unconscious Krum, one of the medical team having apparently set a magical barrier to protect the injured player.

 

Ron was on his feet, cheering wildly along with many others in the top box who had been rooting for Ireland. Fred and George had begun to do a dance with each other, arms locked as the spun in circles. “We won! We won! We won!” they cheered, earning a mildly disapproving look from their father, which they ignored completely. Ludo Bagman glanced at them as well, a sour look on his face, which he quickly hid. The Irish fans were waving the banners of their team all around the stadium while the Irish national anthem played loudly over the cheers. The Veela and Leprechauns had been separated, the Veela once again returning to their human forms before trudging dispiritedly off the field. The Leprechauns finally left the Veela alone as they reformed into the flying shamrock, and soared around the stadium to more cheers.

 

Bagman’s voice boomed once more over the crowd, gathering what attention he could. “The Quidditch Cup is here in the top box, ready to be awarded!” As he spoke two wizards brought in a humongous golden cup, which they handed to Fudge. He had taken a position next to Bagman so he could be seen more clearly by the attendees. “The Bulgarian team arrives first to the top box, let’s hear it for their valiant effort today!” Harry looked back to the door, where the disheveled Bulgarian team was coming in from the stairs. Noticeably absent was Viktor Krum, who Harry assumed was still being treated for his injuries. Both Irish and Bulgarian fans were cheering loudly for the defeated team, who all gave a wave to the crowd.

 

“And now, to this years champions,” Bagman announced grandly, gesturing to the Irish team who were entering behind him, “Cornelius Fudge, England’s Minister of Magic, presents the Quidditch World Cup!”

 

The cheers were deafening as two of the Irish players held the cup above their heads. Everyone in the top box was clapping for the victors, some a little more enthusiastically than others. After soaking up the applause the Irish team left, taking a victory lap around the field with the cup floating between them. As the Bulgarian team left as well, Bagman finally stepped away from his place at the window, and pointed his wand to his neck again.

 

“ _ Quietus.” _

 

He bid the occupants of the box a hasty farewell, and all but ran down the stairs behind the Bulgarian team. The other occupants of the top box all stood, some opting to chat, while others followed Bagman down the stairs towards the exit. Harry was happy to see the Malfoys quickly bid Fudge farewell, opting not to engage else in conversation. He stood in front of his seat, waiting for his group to leave the box, though from their position at the front of the box,  they would likely be some of the last ones down the stairs at the back.

 

Harry looked behind him at the small house elf, who hadn’t moved or spoken during the entire match. Mr. Crouch had apparently never come to claim his seat, which was still sitting empty next to Winky. He looked away from the trembling house elf, and tried to be casual about scanning the top box. He wanted to get another glimpse of the beautiful witch in the top row before she left. He knew he’d likely never see her again, and may not have occasion to see another Veela again for that matter. He saw her and Mr. Delacour standing closer now, apparently waiting to speak to Fudge before they left. Mr. Delacour stood, a small smile on his face waiting patiently. Harry noticed that his companion, however, looked stone-faced. There was a small polite smile on her lips, but Harry could tell there was no feeling behind it, unlike Mr. Delacour’s, which was polite, but genuine.

 

“Try to be a little less obvious why don’t you,” came Hermione’s voice, part scolding, part joking.

 

Harry’s face flushed as he quickly looked away from the French Ambassador and the Veela. He certainly couldn’t deny that he’d been staring, caught out like he was, so he settled on silence. As he looked around the box once more, pointedly ignoring Hermione, he noticed more than a few people staring at the silver-haired witch, their conversations forgotten. He stole a quick glance back at her, to see her polite faux-smile still on her face. He understood exactly why she had such a look on her face. He wished he could be half as composed when he was under such scrutiny.

 

Though he wanted to, he made a point of not looking at her again, not wanting to add to her discomfort. The large group around Fudge slowly dwindled as everyone said their goodbyes. Enough people had left so that the Weasley group could finally make their exit. Harry fixed his eyes on Ron’s heels as they passed Fudge, who was busy talking to the French ambassador. He partly wanted to avoid the impulse to look at her again, but he also wanted to try and avoid Fudge trying to draw him into a conversation again.

 

“I look forward to working with you Minister Fudge,” Mr. Delacour was saying in barely accented English, as he offered his hand.

 

“Same to you Ambassador,” Fudge said, shaking hands. “We hope to make your transition into the position as smooth as possible.”

 

“Thank you Minister. You must excuse us though. We need to make our way back to the portkey area for the trip home. With everybody leaving at once, we’ll be lucky to make it by nightfall.”

 

They turned to leave the box, following just behind Harry as they descended the stairs. Harry was all too aware that the tall beautiful woman he’d been stealing glances at all day was walking right behind him. He tried to act normal, as though he wasn’t hyper aware of her presence, but to no avail. He felt as though his body had forgotten how to descend stairs normally, and he was being forced to figure it out on the spot.  His arms somehow seemed too long, and his feet felt much too big. He tried his best to follow behind Ron down towards the exit as normally as possible. He heard her talking to Mr. Delacour quietly behind him, though he couldn’t understand the language they were using. He wasn’t sure if he was just being paranoid, hopeful, or both, but he thought he heard the word ‘Potter’ in their conversation.

 

After what seemed like an eternity of awkward agony, they reached the bottom of the long stairwell, and exited into the cool night air. The mass of people leaving the stadium split into smaller groups as they followed their illuminated trail back to their campsites. Harry felt a mixture of relief and dismay when Mr. Delacour and the beautiful witch started down a different, and less populated, path from Harry’s own. He glanced over at them one last time as they walked away, trying his best to keep his eyes from straying anywhere indecent. Face burning, he caught back up with his friends, finding he had fallen behind. As he caught up, Ron turned from his conversation with Hermione to include Harry.

 

“Come on Harry,” he said with a frustrated note in his voice. “Tell Hermione that the Wronski Feint isn’t just ‘irresponsible dangerous flying’ and is actually a legitimate move for seekers.”

 

“Well I hadn’t seen one before today,” Harry said after a little thought, grateful for a distraction.“But Ludo Bagman is the one who called it the Wronski Feint, so it must be a real move. It does seem pretty dangerous though.”

 

“I’m surprised you even saw it happen,” Hermione muttered to him, a playful smile on her face. Harry glanced quickly over to Ron, hoping his friend hadn’t heard her. “As though I would say anything to him about it,” Hermione whispered as Ron had begun listing off all the other ‘seeker only’ plays in professional Quidditch. “He’d never let you live it down.”

 

“And I expect you will?” Harry asked testily. He had been having a good time overall at the World Cup, but his nerves were starting to get a little frayed.

 

“Of course,” she replied earnestly, “I don’t want to actually be mean about it. Veela are  _ very _ pretty after all. Even without their Allure.”

 

“Their what?” Harry tried to ask, but was interrupted by Mr. Weasley as they had reached their campsite.

 

“It’s actually close to time for bed,” Mr. Weasley shouted as they all gathered in close. Other campsites had begun boisterous victory parties, and the noise level was rapidly climbing. “But, since it’s a special occasion, I think another hour or so won’t hurt anybody.”

 

The lighthearted mood from the campsites around them was infectious, and soon everybody in camp was laughing at stories of a young Fred and George told by a slightly tipsy Bill. He had apparently snuck a bottle of firewhisky past Mrs. Weasley, and broke it out not long after they had returned to camp. Fred and George attempted to grab the bottle once or twice, but when Bill threatened to tell their Mum when they got home, they gave it up.

 

Harry felt better than he had all year, sitting around a campfire with his friends while listening to funny stories. He knew he wouldn’t soon forget the warm, fuzzy feeling of inclusiveness. It was well into the night before they shuffled off to bed, and though he was having a good time, Harry welcomed the thought of a good night's sleep. 


	4. Chapter 4

Harry awoke with a jolt, eyes wide and arms flailing as he was roughly shaken awake. The fog of sleep jumbled his mind, making it difficult to focus. Had he overslept? It had been a long time since he’d made a mistake like that. Gradually, a voice filtered through the haze of confusion, and helped him fully wake up. It was Mr. Weasley, sounding more serious than Harry had ever heard.

 

“Sorry Harry,” he said quickly, as he bent down to shake Ron awake in the bottom bunk. “Get up quickly! We’ve got to go.”

 

Harry complied, and hopped down from his bunk, grabbing only his glasses, shoes, and throwing on the pants he had worn the day before over his pajama bottoms. Ron was moving much more slowly, and only had time to put on shoes before Mr. Weasley hurried them outside behind the twins, who were uncharacteristically somber.

 

Harry faltered as he stepped out of the tent. The jovial parties at the campsites nearby had turned to a scene of horror. People ran screaming from burning tents as shouts of panic and despair came from all directions. Far off in the direction of the stadium, Harry could see eerie magical lights floating in the sky. There seemed to be a skull flying in the air, something coming from its mouth.

 

Bill emerged from the tent alongside Charlie and Percy, and followed Harry’s gaze over towards the stadium. Bill cursed loudly as recognition set in, and he looked around for his father. Mr. Weasley was stepping out of the girl’s smaller tent, with Hermione and Ginny in tow. He waved the boys over, and they set off down the trampled trail, away from the stadium and its floating skull. 

 

“What’s going on?” Harry asked Ron and Hermione, who were running along either side of him.

 

“I heard Dad tell Charlie there was a Dark Mark over the stadium,” Ron replied quietly.

 

“Dark Mark?”

 

“It’s the symbol of you-know-who and his supporters. It means there are Death Eaters here.” Ron explained as they ran by a few camps that hadn’t been burnt down.

 

Ron had barely finished speaking when a commotion to their right drew Harry’s attention. Out of place in the shouts of terror and confusion, came jeering and laughter. Harry turned his head towards the campsite where the voices were coming from.  From around a burning campsite a short way away from the trail, came two figures in black cloaks and white masks.. They had their wands out, and were pointing them towards the sky. Harry’s eyes followed the direction of their wands, and his stomach roiled at the sight. Floating in the sky were what appeared to be three bodies. Harry couldn’t tell who they were, or rather, who they had been. The bodies were burnt beyond recognition, though they danced together in the air as though they were alive.

 

“Where have you all gone?” One of the masked people called out. “We were having such fun!”

 

Harry nearly broke stride at the sight, his mind refusing to comprehend the scene in front of him. Before the shock could stop him, a hard shove on his back kept him moving.

 

“ _ Go!” _ Mr. Weasley urged frantically from behind him. The rest of the group had pulled slightly ahead as Harry had slowed down. His admonition spurred Harry forward, breaking his mortified gaze upon the dancing bodies.

 

The hooded figures didn’t notice them as they ran further down the trail toward the shelter of a large grove of trees. As they broke through the treeline, Harry saw they weren’t the only ones seeking safety in the woods. As they barreled as a group through the trees, Harry saw a few people cowering as they passed. He saw terrified parents holding their scared, but largely oblivious children.

 

They crashed through the underbrush until they no longer saw quite as many people hiding in the nearby trees. Mr. Weasley gestured from them all to slow down as he scanned the area around them as best he could. Harry doubled over, clutching a stitch in his side.

 

_ “Lumos,” _ came Mr. Weasley’s voice from the semi-darkness, followed by a bright light from the tip of his wand. The sudden light forced Harry to cover his eyes. “Everybody here?” he asked frantically, as he did a quick headcount. His shoulders sagged in relief as he let out a sigh.

 

“We should be helping the Ministry catch them,” Bill said, wand in hand. Percy and Charlie both nodded agreement with their brother. “We can’t let them kill anyone else.”

 

_ “I _ should, perhaps,” Mr. Weasley corrected. He looked stonily at the three eldest Weasley siblings for a moment before speaking again. “Your hearts are all in the right place...” He trailed off as he looked each one in the eye in turn, before settling his gaze upon Bill. “You were eleven when Voldemort lost power, and you were thirteen before the last of the Death Eater raids finally stopped. You’re most likely to remember how the world was during that time, and the horror that followed a Dark Mark.”

 

Bill nodded, his face having gone slightly ashen, making his freckles stand out in the wandlight. “That doesn’t mean we should let those two get away with what they’ve done,” Bill pressed on.

 

Mr. Weasley stared at his eldest son for a moment, the conflict evident on his face. “Everybody,” he finally said, turning to the rest of the group, “wands out, eyes and ears open. Run from danger, not towards it. Keep each other safe.” He turned back to Bill, Charlie, and Percy. “You two,” he said to Charlie and Percy, “keep everyone safe. Bill, let’s go.”

 

As Bill and Mr. Weasley hurried back towards the burning campsites and the screams, the rest of them did as they were instructed, and got their wands ready. Harry frantically patted the pockets of his pants, panic rising in him like bile. He couldn’t find his wand. A feeling of vulnerability washed over him like ice water.

 

“I’ve lost my wand!”

 

“Bad time for a joke mate,” Ron said weakly, though he cast a  _ lumos _ of his own, and began searching the ground nearby.

“Maybe it fell out of your pocket while we were running?” Hermione suggested, her voice trembling.

 

“Maybe…” Harry replied, looking at the ground where Ron’s light shone, though he held no real hope that he would see anything there.

 

“When do you last remember having it?” Fred asked, casting  _ lumos _ himself and scanning the ground as well.

 

“I grabbed it when we left to go to the stadium to watch the match. I haven’t needed it since then,” he said, trying to remember when he last remembered actually seeing it.

 

“Maybe you left it in the tent,” Ginny suggested, “from when you got ready for bed.”

 

“I don’t think…” but Harry was cut off by renewed shouts of fright from the people they had passed. A dull green light began to filter through the canopy, but though through the dense foliage, they couldn’t see what it was.

 

“ _ Reducto,” _ Charlie whispered, causing a sizable hole to appear in the leaves. Floating high in the sky, glittering green, was a massive skull with a large snake for a tongue.

 

“Dad...Bill,” Ginny whimpered, her eyes fixed on the sky.

 

“The Dark Mark,” whispered Hermione her face pale in the eerie green glow.

 

“Come on,” directed Charlie, “you heard Dad. Let’s keep moving. Stick together.”

 

They set off once more into the trees, wands out and eyes scanning for anybody coming near. They were occasionally passed by other groups fleeing the Dark Mark, but nobody that seemed intent on causing more harm. The woods they were in were larger than Harry had expected, and it took them quite a while to make it through to the other side. The dense canopy had covered the Dark Mark almost as soon as they had begun walking again. Although he knew it was still there, Harry felt a little better without it’s shining empty sockets staring down on them.

 

The trees began to thin after about an hour of walking, and the sounds of voices began to filter through. As they passed the treeline, Charlie motioned for them to stop walking as he scanned the open field in front of them. Dozens of large glowing squares dotted the field in front of them. Harry saw a family that had exited the woods ahead of them be led to one of the squares by a witch with a Ministry badge pinned to her robes.

 

“What’s going on?” Ron asked as he too surveyed the scene.

 

“Ministry procedure after an attack requires the set up of these warded safe zones,” Percy answered. “They provide a protected area for non-Ministry individuals to take shelter, find loved ones, and recieve any healing they may require. With all the foreign attention on the World Cup, especially this year, I expect they don’t want to be seen mishandling the situation.”

 

“How do you even know that?” one of the twins asked. “You’re not a part of the DMLE.”

 

“Not now,” Percy replied, though without the long-suffering tone he usually adopted, “but someday I may be. Better to be over prepared than under prepared.”

 

Before either of the twins had the chance to reply, a shout caught the group’s attention.

 

“Charlie! Percy!” came Bill’s voice from nearby. Everybody turned to see him jogging towards them. “Lucky I found you guys now. Saves us the trouble of having to search through all the safe areas.” He gestured for everyone to follow him as he began walking back the way he came. “Dad’s back over this way, they had him finding and helping some of the fleeing campers into the warded areas.”

 

They hadn’t walked far when they caught sight of Mr. Weasley as part of a small group that was standing huddled together. As they approached, Harry recognized two of the three people Mr. Weasley was with. Mr. Diggory and Mr. Bagman both stood quietly as the third person was speaking. Harry didn’t recognize the third person, a well dressed man with straight hair and a small mustache.

 

“That’s Mr. Crouch,” Hermione whispered to Harry as they approached.

 

The conversation broke off abruptly as they approached. The four adults all turned  to them, their gazes settling on Harry. The apprehension on Mr. Weasley’s face, coupled with the stern visage of Mr. Crouch put Harry on edge. Mr. Diggory and Mr. Bagman both looked to Mr. Crouch, then back to Harry, though neither said anything. After a moment, Mr. Crouch stepped towards Harry, offering him something he held in his hand.

 

“I believe,” he said in a clipped tone of disapproval, “that this belongs to you Mr. Potter.”

 

Harry could only stare in shock. He had been certain he had seen the last of his wand, and now this man was giving it back to him.

 

“How is this possible, sir?” Harry asked finally, as he took his wand back gratefully.

 

“How indeed,” Mr. Crouch replied, the disapproval still heavy in his tone, though now laced with anger. “How is it that a Death Eater came to possess your wand Mr. Potter? We verified it was your wand that cast the second Dark Mark.”

 

“I…” Harry trailed off. Everybody standing there was looking at him as he stood in the middle of the large group. It felt uncomfortably like he was on trial. “I don’t know sir,” he managed to get out, his eyes on the ground in shame. “I misplaced my wand today. I don’t know when. I’m sorry.”

 

Mr. Crouch scrutinized Harry some more before speaking, drawing out the silence. “You are  _ very _ lucky Mr. Potter,” he said finally.

 

“Yes sir,” Harry said automatically, but Mr. Crouch talked over him.

 

“You are lucky that Arthur here recognized your wand,” he said, his disapproval turning completely to anger. “You are lucky that an Auror was able to disarm the Death Eater carrying your wand before the two of them Disapparated, and you are  _ very _ lucky that you weren’t anywhere near your wand when the Dark Mark went up, or we would be having this discussion in a Ministry courtroom right now.”

 

“Barty,” Mr. Weasley said placatingly.

 

“Don’t ‘Barty’ me Arthur,” Mr. Crouch retorted angrily. “Without a wand that Death Eater wouldn’t have been able to torture and kill those muggles.” He glowered down at Harry, whose eyes were fixed on a pebble at his feet. “The Muggles were  _ not _ so lucky.”

 

Harry wished that he could vanish into a hole in the ground and stay there. His mind flashed back to the corpses dancing in the sky over the ruined campsites. His wand had done that?

 

“That’s more than enough,” Mr. Weasley cut in, steel in his voice. He shot a look over at Bill, who had been about to protest as well. “As I was saying before, that Death Eater would have found a wand regardless of whether Harry’s was available or not.” He stepped away from the group, and next to Harry. “It’s very late, the Death Eaters have fled, and the Ministry has everything under control. If I’m not needed, we’ll be going back to our tents now to get some sleep before the portkey in the morning.”

 

Before Mr. Crouch could reply, Mr. Weasley led them away, following a path that led around the wooded area, back towards their campsite. As they walked, they saw one of the safe zones filled with the Veela who had been with the Bulgarian Quidditch team. The group of women seemed somber, even for the downtrodden mood that had settled over the area.

 

“I heard some of the Ministry healers saying the larger group of Death Eaters got hold of a few of the Veela,” Mr. Weasley said in an undertone to Bill, who was looking concernedly at the Veela, his eyes a little unfocused. “A few of them were tortured with the Cruciatus Curse before the mark went up over the stadium. They said one of them didn’t make it.”

 

“How could they do something like that?” Ginny asked, her face pale.

 

Mr. Weasley didn’t answer right away as they continued on, leaving the mourning Veela behind them. “Some people believe Veela are only part-human,” Mr. Weasley began. “It’s no secret that the Death Eaters are intolerant of anybody who isn’t a ‘pureblood’ witch or wizard. Because of that view, anyone that doesn’t fit that category is not what they consider a ‘person’. To them it’s like squashing ants beneath your boot.”

 

Silence followed Mr. Weasley’s explanation, and continued until they neared the camp, which suited Harry just fine. He couldn’t shake the miserable guilty feeling that Mr. Crouch’s words had instilled in him. If he hadn’t lost his wand, would those Muggles still be alive? Would the Death Eater have been caught trying to steal somebody else’s wand? The thoughts swirled through Harry’s mind as they passed by ruined campsites near to where their tents stood.

 

To everybody’s surprise, their tents still stood, only one of a few nearby that had escaped burning or trampling. Nobody spoke as Hermione and Ginny split off to their tent as they boys filed into theirs. Harry and Mr. Weasley brought up the rear, waiting their turn to go inside. As Ron stepped inside, Mr. Weasley stopped Harry, the two of them the only ones left outside. Harry turned to face him, bracing for whatever Mr. Weasley had to say. He knew he had made a huge mistake, but hoped Mr. Weasley wouldn’t be too hard on him.

 

“Harry,” Mr. Weasley began, far gentler than Harry had been expecting. “What happened tonight...” Harry tensed, readying himself for the chastisement, “it isn’t your fault.”

 

Whatever Harry had been expecting, it wasn’t that. He couldn’t help but look up at Mr. Weasley in surprise. The older man was smiling gently down at him, compassion evident in his features. Harry looked quickly back down at the ground, unable to meet Mr. WEasley’s kind eyes. He had expected to at least be chastised, if not downright yelled at. He had been worried that Mr. Weasley would tell him he wasn’t allowed to come back to the Burrow. That they didn’t allow people who let others get killed stay with them. He certainly hadn’t expected to consoled, even if what Mr. Weasley was saying didn’t make much sense to him

 

“I can see you don’t believe me,” Mr. Weasley said after a moment, “and that’s okay. It will take time to understand why I’m saying it isn’t your fault, but you will understand eventually.” He paused, letting Harry digest his words a little before continuing. “Until that time, Molly and I are here for you if you need to talk about it.”

 

Harry’s throat tightened and his eyes burned fiercely at the kind words he didn’t deserve. His thoughts were swirling with conflicting emotions that kept him from replying. He merely nodded, trying to keep the tears from spilling down his face. He didn’t think he could bear the shame of Mr. Weasley seeing him cry after everything that had happened on top of that.

 

“Off to bed then,” Mr. Weasley said gently, “it may be hard to sleep, but at least try to get some rest. We’ll take an early portkey back to the Burrow.” Harry nodded again, and fled into the tent.

 

Sleep abandoned Harry that night, the events of the evening replaying on a loop in his mind. Every time he almost drifted off, the image of the dancing bodies would flash through his mind, jolting him awake. He hadn’t managed to get any sleep by the time Mr. Weasley came and woke them. Silence reigned as everybody quickly packed their bags. Harry triple checked to make sure he had his wand in his pocket, before throwing his backpack over his shoulder.

 

Once everyone was assembled outside by the remains of their campfire, Mr. Weasley waved his wand, and the tends folded up, and flew themselves into an open bag at his feet. It was hard for Harry to imagine that just the day before Mr. Weasley had been excitedly erecting their tent ‘the Muggle way’.

 

The walk to the portkey area seemed much shorter to Harry than it had when they arrived, preoccupied as he was. He felt as though they had only just left camp when the roped off circles came into view. They were once again given the dirty boot, which almost instantly pulled them into the bizarre space of the portkey, before depositing them on the hill just outside Ottery St. Catchpole.

 

Another seemingly brief walk later, the Burrow came into sight down the path, with a lone figure standing out front. As soon as they were noticed, Mrs. Weasley came running down the path, her nightdress held up out of the way. Mr. Weasley dropped the bags he was carrying as she neared, and held his arms out wide.

 

“Oh Arthur,” she wailed into his chest as she barreled into him. “I was so worried. The paper came this morning but didn’t give any real details. Besides the D-dark Mark…” she trailed off with a sob before turning to the rest of the exhausted group. “I’m so glad you’re all okay,” she said with a watery smile. Her tears redoubled when her gaze settled on Fred and George, who were standing in the back. “Boys,” she said, gesturing them to her, and grabbing them in a tight hug. “I’m so sorry,” she stammered out. “I’m so sorry I shouted at you the other night. I thought it might’ve been one of the last things I ever got to say to you.”

 

“It’s okay Mum,” one of them said against her shoulder.

 

“You only shout at us if we deserve it,” said the other, his light tone betrayed by his tight grip around his mother.

 

“Let’s all get inside,” Mr. Weasley interjected after a moment. “We can get cleaned up, and back to bed.”

 

Fatigue finally caught up to Harry as he lay in his bunk in Ron’s room. After getting cleaned up, and a quick bite to eat from an insistent Mrs. Weasley, Harry found that he could barely stand. His lack of sleep was finally catching up to him, having only slept five or six hours in the past two days. He fell asleep the moment he fell, fully clothed into his bunk, his mind not having enough time to torture him with visions of the dancing corpses.

 

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

 

It was a slow quiet week that passed at the Burrow. The first few days after the cup were quiet affairs, most everybody keeping to themselves except for mealtimes. Mr. Weasley and Percy were gone most of the time to the Ministry, only appearing back at the Burrow late in the evening with more details on what some woman named ‘Rita Skeeter’ was writing about the Ministry. Harry tried to stay out of the room when she was discussed, as her vitriolic articles infuriated Mrs. Weasley. There was finally a break in the somber mood when Bill and Charlie challenged Ron, Harry, Fred and George to a modified version of Quidditch for fewer people. Harry had initially been reluctant, but the thought of finally being back on his broom lifted his spirits for the first time since they had returned.

 

There was no snitch for Harry to catch in the modified game, where everyone was basically a chaser, but he didn’t mind. The wind seemed to blow his problems away as he sped around the Burrow on his Firebolt. Movement by a large tree near their game caught his eye as he missed yet another goal on Bill and Charlie’s hoop. He saw Ginny and Hermione sitting down in the shade. Hermione, true to form, had a large book in her hand, but Ginny’s eyes were fixed on the brooms. Harry knew Hermione didn’t care for Quidditch much at all, but he expected Ginny was wishing they had a broom for her as well. 

 

Harry sped off towards the tree, ignoring Ron’s protest of surprise. He landed gracefully on the ground next to the two girls. Ginny looked surprisedly up at him, a rosy tint to her cheeks. He was glad to see the days of her turning scarlet and hiding when he came near seemed to be over.

 

“Want a go?” he asked, offering his broom to her. Hermione looked up when he spoke, but promptly buried her nose back in the book in her hands.

 

Ginny reached out hesitantly towards his Firebolt, her eyes wide and full of longing.

 

“What are you doing?” Ron called from in front of their hoops, where Bill was currently attempting to score a goal. “With a broom that fast she’ll probably smash it into the side of the house…” Ron’s comment was cut off as a red streak intercepted Bill’s shot from between him and Ron. Harry blinked in surprise, he hadn’t even noticed her mount the broom. Seconds later, the quaffle soared past Charlie and through the hoop on the far end of the field. Ginny pivoted in midair after her shot, shooting a very rude salute back to Ron.

 

“Ginevra!” Mrs. Weasley shouted from the back door, a scandalized note in her voice. “Making Ron eat his words should be quite enough without the vulgarity!”

“Mum!” Ron called out indignantly over the laughs of his siblings.

 

“Lunch will be ready in ten minutes, so wrap it up. I’ve just got back from Diagon Alley with your school supplies. They’re on the table for you,” Mrs. Weasley said before stepping back into the house. In the short time they had left, Ginny managed to score three more goals on her oldest brothers.

 

“Thanks,” she said as she handed the Firebolt back to Harry. She tried to pat down her long hair that had been tangled by the wind. “What a rush that is. I’m jealous you get to fly that thing in proper Quidditch matches.”

 

“You aren’t the only one,” Ron said, as they crossed the threshold into the house.

 

Mrs. Weasley had placed plates of corned beef sandwiches in front of stacks of books, robes, and other school supplies she had picked up for everybody. Ron ignored his sandwich as he stared at a strange garment that was sitting atop his pile.

 

“What is  _ this _ ?” he asked as he held up a frightfully ugly maroon velvet dress. Harry wasn’t sure whether to be impressed by the amount of lace and frills on it, or repulsed. “Did you give me Ginny’s dress by mistake Mum?”

 

Ginny looked mortified at the thought of having to wear the garment, and looked to Mrs. Weasley for an answer.

 

“Of course not Ron,” Mrs. Weasley said as she placed a large pitcher of water on the table that promptly floated in the air, and began filling everyone’s glass. “Those are your dress robes for this year. It was on your required school purchases.”

 

Ron looked back to the robes in his hands, before laying them back on the table. “I think I’d rather be seen in my underwear.”

 

“You do that then,” Mrs. Weasley replied testily, “everyone else will have dress robes on, so I’m sure you won’t stick out without them. Don’t be ridiculous Ron.”

Ron angrily tossed the ugly clothes back on his things, but didn’t say anything else, opting instead to sulk as he ate his sandwich. Harry eyed an unopened box on his pile of books that likely held his own set of dress robes. He discreetly moved the box off the top of his things, and slid it under his school books.

 

After lunch, everybody carried their school supplies up to their trunks. Harry and Ron had mostly finished packing their trunks, though Ron’s packing consisted of just tossing most of his things haphazardly inside. Harry hadn’t had much opportunity to unpack, only needing in his trunk for a change of clothes. Putting their books in the trunks seemed to drive home to Harry just how close they were to going back to Hogwarts. He loved spending time at the Burrow with Hermione and the Weasleys, but Hogwarts was where he felt truly at home. Even though he had annual brushes with death, there was no place he’d rather be. He hoped that this year’s excitement had already been expended at the World Cup, and he could enjoy a normal year for once.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

 

It was a normal Weasley departure for King’s Cross the next morning. Only Ron, Harry, and Hermione had packed their trunks the day before, and were waiting by the door for Ginny and the twins to finish packing.

 

“We’re leaving in five minutes!” Mrs. Weasley called up the stairs. “If you aren’t down here ready to go, we’re leaving without you!”

 

Ginny came hurrying down the stairs before Mrs. Weasley had finished her threat, but it was another four minutes before Fred and George made it downstairs. Mrs. Weasley eyed them suspiciously, but let it go with a glance at the clock. 

 

“Arthur is at work again, and the Ministry couldn’t spare any vehicles for us, so we will have to go to King’s Cross by Muggle taxi.” she explained as and Bill levitated all the trunks out the front door to where a couple taxis were waiting patiently.

 

Harry had never ridden in a taxi before, but he suspected they weren’t meant for six large trunks and two owl cages. The ride was cramped and uncomfortable, made all the more unbearable by Pigwidgeon’s incessant screeching. He was glad to arrive at King’s Cross, not only to get out of the noisy, cramped vehicle, but because it meant he was only a few hours away from being at Hogwarts. He loaded his trunk, Firebolt, and Hedwig’s cage onto a trolley, and followed his friends to platform nine and three quarters. Harry and Ron went first through the barrier as Mrs. Weasley paid the taxi drivers, so Hedwig and Pig were out of sight of the Muggles as quickly as possible.

 

They maneuvered their luggage through the crowd around the Hogwarts Express, and onto the train, finding their own empty compartment to store their things. Once situated, they hopped back down to the platform to say goodbye to Bill, Charlie, and Mrs. Weasley. Ginny ran over to give Bill and Charlie a hug goodbye.

 

“See you soon,” Charlie said with a wink as he let go of his sister.

 

“What do you mean?” asked Ron, looking puzzled.

 

“You’ll see,” Charlie said in a tone clearly meant to rankle Ron. “Just don’t tell Percy I was talking about his ‘classified information’.” Before anybody could question him, the first whistle sounded, indicating the train was leaving soon.

 

“Better get going,” Bill said, waving goodbye. “I may get some time off so I can come see it too.” He shot a grin over at Charlie, who was laughing quietly.

 

“ _ See what?” _ asked Fred and George in unison.

 

“Get going you lot,” Mrs. Weasley cut in, shooing them towards the train. “We didn’t make it to King’s Cross on time just to have you miss the train while you’re standing right next to it. Go on!”

 

Fred and George glared at Bill and Charlie, who were outright laughing, and reluctantly boarded the Express.

 

“Behave you two!” Mrs. Weasley called after them as the Express blew it’s last call whistle.

 

“Can’t hear you Mum!” Fred called back, head sticking out a window as the train began to creep forward.

 

“Oh yes you can!” she yelled back, as the train picked up speed. “I mean it!”

 

Harry watched as Bill, Charlie, and Mrs. Weasley all waved, growing smaller as the train picked up speed. He let out a sigh of relief as he sunk into one of the seats in their compartment. His difficult summer was finally over. He was on his way back to Hogwarts.

 

“I’m getting real tired of all this ‘top secret’ stuff,” Ron groused as he took a seat next to Harry. “Percy wouldn’t shut up about it, Ludo Bagman mentioned it two or three times before Mr. Crouch yelled at him about it, and now Bill and Charlie are bringing it up.”

 

“If it’s really important,” Hermione said, settling into her own seat across from them, “I’m sure Dumbledore will tell us what’s going on at the opening feast.”

 

They sat in silence for a time, Hermione reading ‘Hogwarts: A History’ as was her custom, and Ron looking out the window.at the darkening sky. Harry had closed his eyes in an attempt to take a nap, when a voice floated in from the corridor that instantly put him on edge. He had hoped that they wouldn’t have their annual Express visit from Malfoy and his cronies this year. He knew they wouldn’t have the good fortune of Malfoy passing their compartment by, and he was proven correct when their compartment door flung open with a sneering Malfoy standing on the other side.

 

“Did you enjoy the World Cup?” He drawled, as he stepped into the compartment, flanked, as always, by his mammoth friends, Crabbe and Goyle. He looked over at Ron, who was making a lousy attempt at ignoring him. “It was a surprise to see you in the top box Weasley. I didn’t realize they were giving out charity seats to the less fortunate. Must’ve been a real treat to bump shoulders with the elite members of various magical societies, even if it was the only chance you’ll have.”

 

“Stuff it Malfoy,” Ron said through clenched teeth.

 

“Surely you have somewhere else you can waste your time,” Hermione added testily over her fourth year spell book.

 

“Lucky that you managed to keep that bushy head of yours down at the Cup, Granger,” Malfoy sneered at her, “I expect the Death Eaters there would have loved to meet a Mudblood who was unable to keep her dirty mouth shut.”

 

“Lucky for you your father wasn’t caught playing dress up,” Ron replied, abandoning all pretence of ignoring Malfoy.

 

Malfoy smiled infuriatingly at Ron. “I’m certain I have no idea what you’re talking about Weasley.” He turned his unfriendly smile on Harry. “I was right about you in our first year Potter, you  _ did _ need help picking your friends.”

 

“So you could show him how to pick friends that are as big as mountains and as dumb as the rocks they’re made of? I think he’s better off without your help Malfoy,” Ron shot back, getting to his feet.

 

“Letting your friends do all your fighting for you, huh Potter?” Malfoy said, ignoring Ron, who was growing redder by the minute in anger.

 

“That’s pretty rich coming from you,” Harry shot back, getting to his feet next to Ron. “Get lost, before we make you leave.”

 

“We’ll go get prefects, and have them force you out. Youll get detentions before school even starts,” Hermione joined in, setting her book on the seat next to her, looking up angrily at Malfoy.

 

“Rules won’t save you forever mudblood,” Draco sneered down at her, his smile having vanished. Before any of them could retort, he waved his hand at Crabbe and Goyle, and they left the compartment.

“Worthless slimy bastard,” Ron growled as he slammed the compartment door shut. His face had turned such a deep shade of red it looked as though he would either catch fire, or pop.

 

His mind was taken off the subject of Malfoy when the snack cart came around. It had become a bit of a ritual for him to purchase a chocolate frog every year to eat on the Express. It reminded him of his first ride on the scarlet train, when he had first met Ron. He purchased three from the old woman who pushed the cart, and offered one to each of his friends, as he always did. Hermione thanked him, and Ron accepted his without comment, though he seemed to relax a bit when he took a bite of the chocolate.

A fierce storm had begun by the time the Express began to slow as it entered Hogsmeade station. Thunder boomed overhead as the students began filing off the train and into the downpour. As he stepped off the train, Harry saw a glow of a lantern that silhouetted a massive figure in the dark.

 

“Hagrid!” Harry called out, waving, trying to be heard over the storm, and the other students.

 

“Alrigh’ Harry?” Hagrid bellowed over the thunder, “See yeh at the feast, if we make it across the lake anyway!”

 

“Thank goodness it wasn’t like this on our first year,” Hermione said, pulling her robes tighter against her. Harry followed suit with a shiver. He wished he’d thought to grab a cloak out of his trunk before leaving the train. It was slow going as the horseless carriages began carrying students up to the school. Harry, Hermione, and Ron all hopped into a carriage when their turn came, followed by a shivering Neville Longbottom.

 

“Can’t imagine going across the lake in this mess,” Neville said by way of hello through chattering teeth. Their carriage lurched forward, and splashed down the path up to Hogwarts.

 

As each group disembarked from their carriage, they ran through the massive front doors to the entrance hall, where they were met by Professor McGonagall, and Professor Flitwick. Both professors were drying off students with a wave of their wand, and directing them into the Great Hall.

Once Harry, Ron, and Hermione were all dried off, they took their seats at Gryffindor table with a sigh of relief. The Great Hall buzzed with conversation as students caught up with their friends about their summer holidays. Harry was unsurprised to hear various mentions of the World Cup, and Rita Skeeter’s awful articles. Whenever he heard someone mention the World Cup, he still felt a pang of guilt, though the feeling had lessened a bit with time. Whenever he felt really upset about it, he tried to recall Mr. Weasley’s kind words. He trusted Mr. Weasley, and did his best to find comfort in his words, even if they were sometimes hard to believe.

The conversations slowly died out when Professor McGonagall strode in from the entry hall, leading a mass of shivering first-years behind her. Harry recalled his first year, when he had been one of the small children shivering behind the foreboding transfiguration professor. Though his shaking had been from nerves, rather than rain. As the Sorting Hat sang, Harry looked over at the first-years. Most of them had awestruck looks on their faces, their attention focused on the magical hat.

 

Harry’s stomach growled as they waiting through the sorting. The chocolate frogs were nice, but not the least bit filling, and a hot meal after being out in the rain sounded like exactly what he needed. After what seemed like ages, the ceremony was over, and the tables were filled with food. Harry and Ron filled their plates quickly, and almost as quickly emptied them again. Hermione seemed equal parts impressed and disgusted by the speed that they were eating.

 

“The food won’t vanish before you’ve had your fill,” she said as Ron loaded up a second helping.

 

“Not taking any chances,” Ron said through a mouthful of bread.

 

After his first plate, Harry slowed down a little. He finally felt as though things were back as they should be. He had a full year of school ahead of him, surrounded by other magical students. He enjoyed his time at the Weasleys, but there was nowhere else in the world that made him feel like he belonged like Hogwarts.

 

Professor Dumbledore stood as the food finally vanished, his hands up asking for quiet.

 

“I have a few announcements to make before you retire to your warm, dry beds. To our first-years, please be advised that the forest is out-of-bounds to all students, as is Hogsmeade to those students below third year.” Dumbledore paused, looking around the room before speaking again. Harry was almost sure Dumbledore’s gaze had lingered on him for a moment. “Also, it is my unfortunate duty to announce that the Quidditch Cup will not be taking place this year.”

 

This announcement was met by an uproar of disapproval from the majority of the student body. Harry felt his heart sink at the announcement. There was nothing he enjoyed more than flying on his broom. His year would feel incomplete without Quidditch.

 

Dumbledore stood quietly, allowing the complaints to die out before speaking again. “I know many of you are disappointed by this news, however, it is not without reason that we have canceled Quidditch for the year. Before we get to that though, there is one other thing we must cover. We are all regretful that Professor Lupin had to leave us at the end of last term…” At these words, Harry looked over to where Snape was sitting at the staff table, who looked very nearly gleeful that Lupin had departed. “But we have managed to secure another teacher for Defence Against the Dark Arts this year,” Dumbledore continued.

 

As Dumbledore finished, the doors to the Great Hall swung open dramatically. A clap of thunder and lightning silhouette a hunched figure in the the doorway. Murmurs followed the figure as he made his way slowly up to the staff table. Every other step was punctuated by a loud  _ clunk _ on the stone floor. As he passed, Harry saw that the man had a false leg, and more astoundingly, a massive false eye that spun wildly in all directions. The strange man shook Dumbledore’s hand when he reached the staff table, and took a seat at the only empty chair.

 

“It is my very great pleasure to introduce to you, Professor Alastor Moody,” Dumbledore announced as he began to applaud. A smattering of applause joined in with Dumbledore before dying out quickly.

“My final announcement,” Dumbledore said finally into the silence, “and the reason we must cancel Quidditch, is that we are to have the very great honor of hosting the Triwizard Tournament this year at Hogwarts!”

 

“That’s what they were all talking about,” Ron said at the same time that Fred and George both yelled out, “You’re joking!”

 

“Certainly not,” Dumbledore replied to Fred and George with a chuckle. “For those who are not aware, the Triwizard Tournament is a prestigious competition between the three largest European schools of witchcraft and wizardry: Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, and of course, Hogwarts. Each school will have a champion represent them in three difficult tasks.

 

“Many hundreds of years ago, the Tournament was held regularly as a way to foster cooperation and friendship between the young witches and wizards of different nationalities. Unfortunately, the death toll of the tournament grew too high, and it was discontinued. As an unfortunate side effect, we have grown distant from our partner schools and their peoples.”

 

Harry goggled up at Professor Dumbledore as he spoke. He knew Hogwarts was occasionally dangerous, but hosting a deadly tournament seemed downright irresponsible. Harry wasn’t the only one to think so, as muttering had broken out amongst the student body.

 

Dumbledore spoke quickly over the murmurs, “Please rest easy knowing that, thanks to a significant effort in foreign relations from our departments of International Magical Cooperation, and Magical Games and Sports, we have been able to engineer a tournament that will most certainly  _ not _ include any mortal danger.”

 

“In October, we will be hosting the Headmistress and Headmaster of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, along with a small delegation of possible champions from each school. The selection of the three champions will take place on Halloween. The winner of the tournament will receive, not only the Triwizard cup and glory for their school, but also a one thousand Galleon prize.”

 

At the mention of prize money, and such a significant amount, the Great Hall burst into speculative conversation. Dumbledore quieted the students once more before continuing.

 

“I am sure that many of you desire to compete for Hogwarts, however, there have been some necessary restrictions agreed upon and implemented by the three schools and the Ministry. We will be imposing an age limit of seventeen years and older upon the applicants who wish to compete. This measure,” he continued, speaking over the cries of outrage, “is for the safety of the participating champions. We have worked tirelessly to ensure there will be no mortal danger during these tasks, but due to the nature of the tournament, there will still be significant personal risk for those involved. We believe it unlikely that any student below the age of seventeen would be able to successfully navigate the tasks we have prepared.

 

“The Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students will be remaining with us for the majority of the school year. I  _ know _ that you will be most hospitable and gracious to our foreign guests during their time with us. And now, it is late, and I have imposed upon your evening long enough. Prefects, please escort your houses to their dormitories.”

The students stood as Dumbledore sat back down, most complaining about how unfair the rules were. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all followed the Gryffindors out the of the Great Hall.

 

“A thousand Galleons,” Ron wondered aloud, a wistful look upon his face, “can you imagine…”

 

“You won’t have to imagine little brother,” grumbled one of the twins from behind them, “Fred and I will figure out a way to enter.”

 

“You think you can outsmart Dumbledore?” Hermione asked disapprovingly.

 

“We’ll figure something out,” Fred replied, “I doubt he’ll be the ones picking the champions.

 

Fred and George brainstormed ideas the whole way up to Gryffindor tower, and split off from the rest of the group after climbing through the portrait of the Fat Lady.

Hermione bid Harry and Ron goodnight before going up the stairs to the girls’ dormitory. They followed Neville tiredly up the stairs to the boys’ dorm at the top. Harry’s full stomach and the warmth coming from the fireplace in their room made him instantly drowsy. It wasn’t long after climbing into bed that he was fast asleep.

 

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

 

The next morning found Harry, Ron, and Hermione all sitting at breakfast, discussing their new schedules when the rustling of feathers broke their conversation. As Harry looked up at the mass of owls, he was struck by a sudden realization. He felt suddenly foolish. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten to write Sirius. His Godfather would want to know everything that had happened at the World Cup, if he didn’t know already. He made a mental note to visit the owlery later in the evening to deliver his letter. He had enjoyed having Hedwig around during the summer, but he knew she was happiest when she was delivering letters, and would be glad for the trip.

 

Their first class of the year was Herbology with Professor Sprout. Neville was bouncing with excitement all the way to the greenhouses, though his excitement was diminished when they arrived to find ugly slugs at their workstations. After a disgusting lesson on collecting Bubotuber pus, the Gryffindors split from the Hufflepuffs they shared Herbology with, and walked as a group down to Hagrid’s hut. Harry was not hopeful about his second class of the year. He was very fond of Hagrid, but the half-giant’s lessons were typically at least a little dangerous. Harry’s worries proved to be justified as they approached what appeared to be several wooden crates that held small explosions.

 

“Mornin’ you three!” Hagrid said with a grin, “you lot ready to learn abou’ Blast-Ended Skrewts?”

 

“Learn about what now?” Ron asked, glancing nervously at the crates.

 

Hagrid gestured to an open crate, where what seemed to be hundreds of strange creatures climbed all over each other. Harry grimaced at the bizarre slimy creatures, hoping the lesson on the Skrewts was a one time thing, but he had a feeling that wasn’t going to be the case. It wasn’t long before his assumption was proved correct. The Slytherins showed up a few minutes later, and Hagrid began the lesson by grabbing one of the creatures.

 

“These are Blast-Ended Skrewts,” he said loudly, holding it up for the assembled students to see. Most of them recoiled from the creature. “They jus’ hatched a few days ago, and I thought yeh all could raise ‘em. Bit of a class project!”

 

“Why on  _ earth _ would we want to do that?” Malfoy sneered from his place at the back of the group. Most of the Slytherins chuckled, and even a few of the Gryffindors seemed to share his opinion.

 

“‘Cause yeh want ter pass my class Malfoy,” Hagrid replied coolly before replacing his Skrewt in the box. “You’ll just be feedin’ ‘em today.” He gestured to some buckets on the ground. “I’ve got a few things for ya to try out. I’m no’ exactly sure what they like, so try a little of everythin’.”

 

After being stung, burned, and bitten through the rest of the lesson, it was an irritated group that returned to the Great Hall for lunch.

 

“I know Hagrid likes some weird stuff” Ron said as he loaded a plate, “but this might take the cake. I have no idea what he sees in them.”

 

“I expect they’re useful somehow,” Hermione said as she too grabbed a plate of food. “Everything he’s shown us has some sort of magical application, no matter how strange.”

 

“Better be something good,” grumbled Harry, nursing a bright red burn on his hand.

 

“Madam Pomfrey could take care of that you know,” Hermione said as Harry rubbed the injury, wincing.

 

“If I show up to the hospital wing on the very first day of school,” Harry said with a wry smile, “she’d probably find a way to have me expelled for wasting so much of her time.”

 

“Fixing you up isn’t a waste of her time,” Hermione replied quietly with a frown.

 

“It’s just a joke Hermione, lighten up,” Ron interjected. Hermione shot him a glare, and ate her lunch in silence.

 

Harry and Ron struggled through their extra long Divination lesson, where Professor Trelawney predicted Harry’s demise no less than five times. Harry’s stomach grumbled, the long lesson lasting until dinnertime. They met up with Hermione on the way back to the Great Hall, who had apparently decided to speak to Ron again. They passed by Professor Moody, who was lurking near the entrance to the Great Hall, his magical eye swivelling around to look at all the students passing by. Ron shuddered as they sat down at the Gryffindor table.

 

“That eye of his gives me the creeps. Dad says Mad-Eye was the best Auror the Ministry every had, but he’s had to take care of so many dark wizards, that he’s gone a little off his rocker.”

 

“I expect anyone would be a little off if they’ve seen the things he probably has,” Harry remarked.

 

“Too right,” said Fred as he sat down, Lee Jordan and George following suit.

 

“Off his rocker, sure, but he’s brilliant,” said Lee, “we’ve only just left his class.”

 

“What was it like?” Harry asked eagerly. He hoped the Defence class would be half as good as last years with Professor Lupin.

 

“Unlike any other lesson you’ve ever been to,” said George, the awe clear in his voice. “He’s definitely a little off, but he knows what he’s doing.”

 

After dinner, Harry retired early to his dorm to write his reply to Sirius. He hoped to get it finished before Hedwig left on her nightly hunt. Using the small table next to his bed as a writing desk, he pulled out some parchment, ink, and a quill. He twirled the quill around his fingers as he tried to decide what to include in the letter. He’d never written to Sirius before, and he didn’t know what Sirius might know about what happened at the World Cup. According to his last letter, he was staying somewhere very far away.

 

_ Sirius, _

 

_ I got your letter, but have only just now had the chance to reply. Sorry for taking so long. You were right that I can’t get letters at my Aunt and Uncle’s house. They don’t care for magic, and they especially don’t like having an owl in the house. Thanks for taking care of her for me. _

 

Harry paused, deciding what exactly he wanted to convey about the World Cup. He quickly decided that if Sirius didn’t already know, he would find out eventually, and there wasn’t much point in hiding anything from his Godfather.

 

_ I’m not sure if you heard, but there was an attack at the World Cup. I was there with my friend Ron’s family when it happened. There were two Dark Marks put in the sky by a bunch of Death Eaters and they killed some people too. It sounded like they were chased off by the Ministry before they could do a lot of damage, but it was enough to really scare people. _

 

_ Also, the Triwizard Tournament is happening at Hogwarts this year. Dumbledore just announced it tonight. There are going to be two other schools coming to visit soon and participate in the tournament. I never thought there would be other magical schools, though I suppose it makes sense. Are there any others besides Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang? They cancelled Quidditch this year because of the tournament, so I won’t get to fly the Firebolt you got me much at all this year. _

 

_ Take care and stay safe, _

_ Harry _

Harry had decided not to tell Sirius about what had happened with his wand. It felt as though it were somehow more ‘real’ to put it down on parchment in words, and he was busy trying to forget it had ever happened. Curfew came and went as he was writing his letter, but he didn’t want to wait to the morning to send the letter. He grabbed his invisibility cloak and the Marauder’s Map, heading through the deserted hallways towards the owlery. 

 

As he walked the halls, he was certain he passed a few couples reuniting in hidden spaces and empty classrooms. He had gotten used to it, as he did quite a lot of after-curfew walking around with his invisibility cloak. When he had first received the map, he had indulged in his curiosity, and used it to see who exactly was participating in the late night rendezvous. Snooping in such a way had a sort of forbidden knowledge appeal to it initially, but quickly lost its charm and made him feel a little slimy. He’d be lying if he tried to say he didn’t still occasionally feel the desire to fulfill the voyeuristic temptation though.

 

He arrived in the owlery to find Hedwig apparently waiting for him, even though it was long after when she would usually be out hunting. He was continually astounded by how smart his familiar was, and told her so as she hopped on his arm to receive the letter.

 

“It’s going back to Sirius,” Harry whispered to her as he tied the parchment to her leg. “I know it’ll take a while, so don’t push yourself too hard.”

 

Hedwig gave him a reproachful look, before taking flight out one of the open windows. He watched her fly out into the darkness, until he could no longer see her white feathers illuminated by the moonlight. He walked quickly back to Gryffindor tower, and went to bed as soon as he got back. Even at Hogwarts he couldn’t help but wake up a little before dawn, and he wanted to try and get a good night’s sleep.

 

XxXxXxXxXxX

.

The rest of the week passed slowly, with Harry looking forward to their first lesson with Professor Moody. Fred, George, and Lee’s description of the class only served to fuel his excitement. He’d been pleasantly surprised to discover he was pretty good at the defence classes, except for the Patronus charm anyway, and looked forward to lessons from an experienced Auror. 

 

When the time came, Moody’s first class didn’t disappoint. The old auror started the year by covering the most illegal curses, the Unforgivables, and demonstrated their use on some spiders as he taught. Unfortunately for Harry, though he had expected it, Moody turned his attention to him when it came time to discuss the killing curse.

 

“There is no defence for the last curse we’ll be discussing today. The killing curse,” Moody had said, after he had finished describing the Cruciatus Curse. Both his normal and magical eye were fixed upon Harry. “The only person to ever survive it, is sitting right here in this class.”

 

Harry felt his face burn as his classmates all turned to look at him. Harry did his best to keep his level of discomfort under control and off his face. Moody slowly pulled out another spider, and placed it on the table. The class seemed to hold their collective breath, unable to believe what they were about to see. Harry’s eyes fixed upon the spider, his heart pounding in his chest.

 

“ _ Avada Kedavra!” _ Moody growled. The green flash of light that emanated from his wand catapulted Harry back into his recurring nightmare.

 

_ “Take me! Not Harry! Please not Harry!” _

 

_ “Move aside, or I will kill you as I did your foolish husband.” _

 

_ “No! Stay away from Harry! You can’t have him!” _

 

_ “Avada Kedavra!” _

 

Harry jolted as the same flash of green light bloomed in his memory, bringing him back to the present. His breathing was ragged, and his hands were white knuckled on the edge of the desk. Moody had begun speaking again, and everybody’s attention had been drawn back to the lesson.

 

“Alright mate?” Ron whispered to him, glancing briefly over to Harry.

 

Harry nodded, trying to swallow with his suddenly dry mouth. Hermione was on the other side of him, concern etched on her features, though she said nothing. Harry did his best to listen to the rest of the lecture, but everytime he closed his eyes, he saw the distinct flash of green. As class thankfully ended, Harry grabbed his bag, and followed Ron and Hermione out of the room.

 

“Potter! Longbottom!” Professor Moody called as the fourth years filed out. “Stay behind please.”

 

Ron and Hermione looked back at Harry, a silent question on their faces.

 

“I’ll catch up with you at dinner,” he said, before turning back to face the Professor, and a ghost white Neville.

 

Once the last person had filtered out of the room, Professor Moody shut the door with a wave of his wand, and gestured for Harry to sit down at the desk next to Neville.

 

“I kept you behind because I wanted to apologize to you,” he said without preamble. Neville’s color seemed to return a little as his face took on a look of confusion, which Harry was sure mirrored his own expression. “I’ve been an Auror for a long time, and I know that sometimes, when you’ve seen an unforgivable in action, seeing it again can bring back some difficult memories.”

 

Professor Moody stood over their desk, looking down with his non-magical eye fixed on Neville and Harry. They both simultaneously looked to the ground in embarrassment.. “None of that now,” he said gruffly, banging his wooden leg on the ground for emphasis. “Aurors three times your age with a decade of experience behind them can have the exact same thing happen to them. It’s just the way normal people work. Only people like the Death Eaters can see the horrors of the unforgivables and feel nothing afterwards.

 

“I know your first class with me was difficult, but it was necessary,” Moody continued, as he began pacing in front of them. “You’ve got to know what we’re up against, especially with the resurgence of the Dark Mark. That doesn’t mean that you’ve got to tough it out though,” he said, stopping in front of them again. “Don’t forget, there are teachers here that can help you. We’re here to protect you, don’t forget that.”

 

Harry and Neville nodded mutely in unison.

 

Moody’s serious, grizzled expression suddenly changed, breaking the tense mood. “I’ve got some books here for you to read as well,” he said as he stepped over to a nearby bookshelf. “Longbottom, I’ve heard from Professor Sprout that you’re something of a prodigy in her greenhouses. I’ve got a rare book here on some of the lesser known magical plants and fungi for you.” He handed Neville a green book that was so faded it was almost grey. “And for you Potter, I’ve got a book on advanced dark magical creatures, and one on the Patronus Charm. Professor Lupin’s notes said you took to his lessons splendidly, but never quite got the hang of the Patronus. Let me know if you have any questions after reading that book.”

 

Moody waved his wand once more, and the classroom door swung open. “Off you go, and feel free to use those books as an excuse as to why I kept you behind. It’ll keep most of the students from sticking their noses in your business.”

 

Harry and Neville once again nodded mutely, before grabbing their bags and the books they had been given. Harry tried to walk casually out of the room, though he felt as though he wanted to flee the awkward feeling he had. He didn’t know why Moody had kept Neville behind as well, but he knew better than to ask. Everybody already knew what had happened to Harry’s parents, but he’d give just about anything to make it so that wasn’t the case. He wanted to offer Neville the opportunity he’d never had. The two of them didn’t say anything on their long walk down the Great Hall for dinner, both lost in their own, troubled thoughts.


	5. Chapter 5

Their next defence against the dark arts class saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione standing at the end of a long line leading to Professor Moody. Who, in Harry’s opinion, looked to be having a little too much fun. The fourth years had been shocked when they arrived to their next lesson with the strange old Auror. The students had barely seated themselves when he had instructed them to get back up, and line up to be placed under the Imperius curse. To nobody’s great surprise, Hermione was the first to object.

 

“But sir, you said casting the Imperius is illegal, won’t you be arrested and sent to Azkaban?”

 

Moody laughed gruffly, surprising the other students, who looked as though they agreed with Hermione’s concerns.

 

“If you want your first experience with the Imperius to be at the hands of a Death Eater, then so be it,” he ground out, anger clear in his voice and scarred features. He paced around the room, glaring down at those still seated, as well as those that had obediently begun forming a haphazard line. “This lesson isn’t about teaching you to save your own skin from an Imperious,” his voice became sinister as he paused, “though it may well do precisely that against Death Eaters, believe you me.”

 

More than a few people shuddered involuntarily at the bleak statement.

 

“Not only could the knowledge possibly save your own life,” he continued, “but it can save those you care about as well. Your friends,” he punctuated his statement by slamming his wooden leg on the floor, making Harry jump in surprise. “Your family, your husbands, wives, and children. Not one of them is safe from you if you’re under the control of the Imperious. So, if you’ve any interest in protecting those you care for, then LINE UP!” he barked.

 

The class scurried into position as he rearranged the desks to make a large space in the middle of the room. A faint looking Neville was first, who looked to be trembling so badly he could barely stand. From their place at the back of the line, which had wrapped around the side of the room so everyone could see, they heard Professor Moody call out ‘ _ Imperio’ _ . Neville promptly stopped trembling, a look of calm disinterest adorning his features. Without any provocation, the shy boy started performing cartwheels around the room, ending with an impressive flip onto a desk. 

 

When Moody ended the enchantment, Neville blinked down at the class from his place on the desk. He hopped down with far less grace than he had gotten up with, but his nerves seemed to have settled significantly. He took a spot against the wall near the end of the line. Harry looked curiously over at Neville, but he seemed to be completely focused on Professor Moody and the other Imperiused students.

 

The mood in the room was strangely pensive by the time Harry, Ron, and Hermione made it to their turns. Everybody watched the others be Imperioused, and the room was nearly silent while they did so, everyone’s attention completely enraptured by the unorthodox lesson.

 

‘ _ Imperio’  _ Moody whispered, as he pointed his wand at Hermione’s back. The tension that had been present in her posture slid away instantly, and she began to pirouette around the room. Harry watched her intently, extremely unsettled to see his friend placed under magical control. Ron gulped audibly after Moody released Hermione, who shook her head slightly to herself as she took a spot next to Neville. Harry knew her well enough to know that she was undoubtedly already trying to figure out the mysteries of the Imperious curse. Professor Moody had Ron do cartwheels very similar to Neville, though his routine ended with an impressive handstand. Once released, he took a spot next to Hermione, his freckles standing out on his pale face. 

 

“You’re up Potter,” Moody said, both normal and magical eye focused on him. Harry woodenly stepped forward, and braced himself as best he could against the unknown.

 

‘ _ Imperio’ _ Moody said from behind as the world around Harry was washed away.

 

He hadn’t expected the weightless freedom that accompanied the Imperious. He had been prepared from some sort of struggle for dominance, not complete and utter contentment. He remembered that he was in class, that he had watched all his friends do ridiculous things, and that he was supposed to try and fight the Imperious, but he found it impossible to care. He reveled in the feeling of freedom, as all his problems were washed away for the first time in his life. He couldn’t tell how long he spent enjoying the contented feeling when a quiet voice spoke up from all around him. He recognized Moody’s gruff voice giving the instruction.

 

_ Dance… _ it said tantalizingly. Harry was surprised to find that dancing seemed like a marvelous idea, even though he had never danced before in his life.  _ Dance… _ it repeated, growing slightly louder.  _ Dance _ !

 

Oddly, Harry began to feel himself grow obstinate. He wouldn’t be pushed around in this world of freedom.

 

_ I don’t think I will  _ he thought back at Moody’s voice.

 

_ Dance!  _ Moody’s voice shot back, growing much louder.  _ Dance now! _

 

Though the voice was louder, and stronger, the feeling of freedom still permeated Harry, and bolstered him. He wouldn’t be told what to do within his own mind.

 

_ I won’t. _

 

Do his dismay, he suddenly found himself on his hands and knees on the cold wooden floor of the classroom. The wonderful feelings had vanished, replaced by reality. He stayed there for a moment, disoriented, before looking up to the astonished faces of his classmates.

 

“That’s the way to do it Potter,” Moody almost shouted as he helped him to his feet. “Did you all see that?” the Professor said, addressing the stunned students. “Potter managed to beat the Imperius. Only a handful of you managed to put up any sort of struggle at all.”

 

“But why is that professor?” Hermione asked from her place next to Ron and Neville. “Does everybody experience the same thing while under the Imperius?”

 

“An excellent question Granger,” Moody replied. “What did you feel under the Imperius?”

 

“I just felt…” she paused, thinking back on the experience, “like I didn’t have a care in the world. Like everything always had been, and would always be, okay.”

 

Murmurs of agreement swept around the room.

 

“Well there’s your answer Ms. Granger,” Moody said, gesturing to the rest of the class. “Yes, the Imperius is the same for everyone, but as you saw, not everyone can fight through it.”

 

“But why was it so difficult to ignore the voice, even when everything felt so right?” Hermione persisted.

 

“It’s much easier to be someone’s tool, than to deal with personal responsibility, Ms. Granger,” Moody replied. “That’s just the way people are. Some find the draw of the feeling of contentment to be too great, and would do anything to keep it from vanishing. Some don’t even realize they’ve been taken over, and mindlessly do as they’re told. Others,” he paused, glancing in Harry’s direction, who had taken a place next to Ron. “draw strength from the freedom it offers.

 

“But everyone can learn to recognize its effects and beat it,” Moody continued, slipping back into a lecturing tone. “Some just have to work harder than others. Read up on what you can of the Imperius before next class. I’ll write passes to the restricted section for those who need it.” The bell rang as he finished, and the class eagerly grabbed their things before hurrying from the room.

 

Harry pondered the Imperius for the rest of the day, only being broken out of his reverie by another burn on his hand from a blast-ended skrewt later in the day. He cursed under his breath, and walked over to where Hagrid had wisely procured some burn ointment from the hospital wing. The burn on his hand served to bring him back to reality though, as he had been wishing he could return to the dreamlike freedom of the Imperius ever since he had broken free of the curse. Though Madam Pomfrey’s ointment cured the burn in seconds, it served as a reminder of the other pains in his life that he was seeking escape from. His mood turned melancholy as his thoughts took a downward turn.

 

He remained in a sour mood until they arrived back at the school to see a massive amount of students huddled around a sign in the entrance hall. They craned their necks to try and see, though Harry knew that he had no chance of seeing over any of the other students, short as he was. He was gratified when Ginny elbowed her way out of the crowd, throwing a sharp elbow into the side of a sixth year boy who trod on her foot as she passed. As she cleared the edge of the crowd, she saw the three of them standing apart, and came over.

 

“It’s a sign saying that the other schools will be here on the 30th for the tournament,” she explained without preamble, smoothing her long red hair that had gotten ruffled in her passage through the throng of people. “We all have to be out front of the castle at six to meet them. Classes end a little early for it.”

 

“That’s not very far away,” Hermione said, “I wonder how soon the tournament will start once they’ve arrived.”

 

Ginny shrugged in answer before leaving with a small group of other third years.

 

“I wonder how they’re going to pick the champions?” Harry wondered aloud as they walked towards their next class. “Dumbledore didn’t say exactly how they were going to do it.”

 

Similar thoughts seemed to be widespread throughout Hogwarts, as the student body talked of little else but the tournament, and their imminent visitors. Speculation about the other schools, as well as the tasks for the tournament, carried the school quickly to the evening of the 30th

 

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

 

Harry found himself uncomfortably placed in the center of the assembled students, who had been lined up by year to await the arrival of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students. Harry tried not to grow restless as Professor McGonagall passed down the lines of students, fussing with anything that seemed out of place.

 

“Chins up, backs straight,” she yelled over the heads of the first years, who jumped like they’d been shocked. “They’ll be arriving at any moment now.” She moved to the back of the group, where the teachers had taken positions reminiscent of their seating arrangement at the staff table. Professor McGonagall took her place to Dumbledore’s right, adjusting her long maroon robes one last time before standing still, her head held high.

 

Seconds turned into minutes as they waited for the other schools to arrive. Harry realized that he didn’t know what he was even looking for. He didn’t expect they’d be flying in by broomstick, and if they were planning to come by floo, they wouldn’t all be standing outside. Before he could wonder for much longer, Dumbledore’s voice placated the growing noise of chatter.

 

“I believe,” he said, one finger raised to the darkening sky, “that our counterparts from Beauxbatons have arrived.”

 

Every eye followed his finger, which pointed in the direction of Hagrid’s hut. Harry squinted, and to his immense surprise, he saw a carriage being drawn by flying horses. He didn’t realize at first, but as they drew closer, he saw that both the carriage and the horses were far larger than he thought. The massive horses brought the carriage to a surprisingly graceful stop not far in front of the Hogwarts students. The blue door popped open, and an impossibly large woman stepped out.

 

Harry was so stunned he didn’t know what to think. Was Beauxbatons a school for giants? As the woman drew up to her full height, Harry relaxed a little. She wasn’t quite as tall as he thought at first glance, though she still towered over the assembled students. A small smile formed on her large, though attractive, features.

 

“Madam Maxime,” Dumbledore greeted, his arms wide. “We welcome you and your students to Hogwarts.”

 

“Dumbledore,” Madam Maxime replied in a deep booming voice, dipping her large head in greeting. “Thank you. We look forward to our stay in your magnificent castle.”

 

“You are too kind.”

 

As they spoke, people had begun to file out of the overlarge carriage, and stand in lines next to their Headmistress.

 

“I know you are unaccustomed to our chilly Scottish Autumns, and we have prepared our Great Hall for your convenience. My deputy headmistress will show you the way.”

 

“Thank you,” Madam Maxime replied, her deep voice grateful. “What of my horses?” she asked, gesturing to the massive animals.

 

“They will be taken care of, I assure you,” Dumbledore replied, as he gestured for the Hogwarts students to open a path for the new arrivals.

 

Madam Maxime nodded graciously, and led her group into the castle, following Professor McGonagall, who was just shy of jogging to keep ahead of the large woman. Harry was on the very edge of the path that split the Hogwarts students, and tried to look at every Beauxbatons student as they passed. He didn’t think he’d been expecting anything astounding from the new arrivals, but he felt slightly disappointed that they all looked like regular teenagers, though they were all older than he was. A few had dressed for the weather, and wore light jackets, hats, and scarves. All wore the same color robes, a soft blue that matched their carriage.

 

Harry moved over with the rest of his line to close the path as the last of the Beauxbatons students entered the castle. He hoped they wouldn’t have to wait too long, as a chill wind was beginning to make his school robes inadequate. Thankfully, it was mere minutes before a rumbling near the lake signified the arrival of the Durmstrang students. People around him gasped in surprise as a dilapidated ship rose from a whirlpool in the middle of the lake. Clouds that had been obstructing the moon finally parted, showing the people making their way from the ship to the entrance. As they drew near to the waiting students, the person in front spoke.

 

“Dumbledore!” called the tall figure leading the procession. As the man stepped into the light, Harry found himself looking at a man at odds with his friendly voice. He was nearly as tall as Dumbledore, though his posture held none of the open friendliness that Dumbledore exuded. His hair was short and shone silver in the moonlight, with a goatee to match. His face was split in a wide smile that was matched only by his tone of voice. His eyes were not smiling, and looked cold and hard.

 

“Professor Karkaroff,” Dumbledore greeted in return, “I hope your trip was satisfactory.”

 

“Oh yes,” said the Durmstrang Headmaster. “The ship may be centuries old, but she still sails like new. Shall we adjourn into the castle Headmaster? We are overdressed for this weather, and I would very much like to sit in a chair that isn’t rocking under me.”

 

Without prompting, the Hogwarts students split again down the middle, allowing Karkaroff and his student to pass into the entrance hall. Harry did a double take when he saw the student behind Karkaroff pass by, then nearly jumped out of his skin when an elbow slammed into his upper arm.

 

“It’s Viktor Krum,” Ron whispered from next to him.

 

Ron was right, and he wasn’t the only one who noticed. Whispers broke out among the Hogwarts students as Krum passed by, though the lanky young man seemed unaware.

 

It wasn’t long before everyone was seated within the Great Hall. Harry saw a few of the Beauxbatons girls still wrapped up in their hats and scarves, while the Durmstrang students had shed their heavy furs the moment they had entered the castle. Viktor Krum sat flanked by two of his largest classmates, who were chasing off anybody who tried to pester the young seeker.

 

“Don’t reckon I’m gonna get an autograph with those guys around,” Ron complained, following Harry’s gaze.

 

“He’s  _ just _ a seeker,” Hermione said from her place across the table from them.

 

She was spared Ron’s angry tirade about Quidditch by Professor Dumbledore, who was gesturing for quiet. Even with the visitors, the hall quieted almost immediately.

 

“Please allow me to officially welcome our guests to Hogwarts,” he began, gesturing to the new arrivals. “I do hope you find yourself almost as comfortable here as you might in your home school. It is our hope that you create lasting bonds of friendship and camaraderie through the course of the Triwizard Tournament. After the feast, we will have a few announcements regarding the tournament, but until then, please enjoy the meal our marvelous elves have cooked for this special occasion.”

 

“Elves?” Hermione asked questioningly as a massive amount of food appeared on the table in front of them. Harry saw many dishes that were typically reserved for the largest of feast days, as well as many dishes he didn’t recognize. Two dishes he didn’t recognize sat directly in front of him. One was some sort of dumpling that seemed to be stuffed with different meats, and the other appeared to be a stew of some sort. He avoided both, and stuck to the food he was familiar with.

 

Once finished, Harry set his fork on his plate, once again having stuffed himself nearly to bursting. Most days he avoided it, but on the feast days, he just couldn’t help himself. He was about to lean back and stretch when a voice spoke behind him.

 

“Excuse me,” said an accented, but distinctly feminine voice. “Would you mind if we were to take your bouillabaisse from this table? We have eaten ours.”

 

Harry turned, and thought the thump of surprise that his heart gave might have deafened him. The tall, beautiful, and, now that Harry was much closer, admittedly well-figured witch with the silver-blond hair from the world cup was standing not a foot away from him. He was slightly disappointed when her dark blue eyes quickly flitted up to look at his scar. He was pleased that she didn’t seem to react in any way, but it helped bring him down from his surprise.

 

“I’m uh, not sure which one that is,” he said apologetically, looking at the two mystery dishes in front of him.

 

“I can make you some if you want!” Ron burst out, making Harry jump. He looked over at Ron in surprise. His friend had not once mentioned a single time he had cooked a meal in the nearly four years they had known each other.

 

“I think the stew on the table will be adequate,” she said, not once looking at Ron. “May I,” she asked Harry, who slid sideways to allow her to reach the large bowl.

 

Harry felt awkward leaning out of her way, and felt the cloth of her robe brush his shoulder. He caught the scent of cinnamon from her robes as she leaned past to grab the strange stew. She inclined her head to him once she had straightened, bouillabaisse in hand.

 

“Thank you,” she said, before departing back for her seat at the Ravenclaw table. Harry looked over to Ron, who was still looking glassy eyed in her direction. Harry shook his head, and turned back to Hermione, who was looking at Ron, annoyed.

 

“Snap out of it Ronald, you’re making a fool of yourself,” she said briskly, leaning over the table to swat him on the arm. The contact seemed to snap him out of it, and he shook his head as if to clear it.

 

“She’s a Veela,” he said after a moment. “Just like at the World Cup. Made my head go all fuzzy.”

 

“She’s very pretty,” Hermione admitted, somewhat grudgingly in Harry’s opinion. “But that doesn’t mean she’s a Veela.”

 

“But she’s got the silver hair like they had,” Ron argued back, “and they do that weird thing to you. You both felt it, right?”

 

“Firstly, there are many potions and spells that can change your hair color, or she could be a metamorphmagus. Although that would be less likely than being a Veela.”

 

“A metamor-what?” Ron asked, a look of confusion on his face.

 

“Honestly Ron, it’s like you don’t even care that you live in a magical world,” Hermione snapped. “Look it up! Secondly, if she were a Veela, I wouldn’t feel anything because I’m a girl.”

 

“Well Harry was right here too, he would’ve felt something too, right?” he asked, looking at Harry as he spoke.

 

“I uh, didn’t feel my mind go fuzzy or anything,” he said quietly, not wishing to be in the middle of an argument.

 

“You see Ron, it’s very rare for someone to be able to resist the Allure of a Veela, though it doesn’t work on…” she trailed off, before plowing quickly ahead, “well nevermind, point is, she’s probably not a Veela.”

 

Harry thought differently, but kept his mouth shut, not wanting to provoke an already annoyed Hermione.

 

“That’s not a normal girl,” Ron persisted, gesturing to a few other people who had the same glassy eyed expression still on their features.

 

“ _ She’s _ probably just as normal as the rest of us,” Hermione retorted, anger beginning to color her face. “Don’t you dare start sounding like the Slytherins, calling anyone with mixed blood a ‘that’.”

 

Ron seemed to shrink in on himself beneath Hermione’s vehemence, and wisely decided to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the meal. Once the desserts vanished from the tables, Dumbledore stood. Harry was surprised to see Ludo Bagman and Mr. Crouch to either side of Dumbledore, apparently having arrived during Ron and Hermione’s argument. Harry’s stomach did an uncomfortable flop at the sight of Mr. Crouch, as his words from the World Cup came bubbling to the surface of Harry’s memory. Luckily, Dumbledore’s speech helped distract him from the thoughts.

 

“And now, let us discuss the Triwizard Tournament,” Dumbledore said once the noise died down. “Let me start by introducing two of the key organizers for the tournament, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, and Mr. Ludo Bagman.” Both wizards waved as their names were spoken to polite applause. “Mr. Crouch is our head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and has been working tirelessly for the last year to bring us both the Quidditch World Cup, and the Triwizard Tournament, in the hopes of strengthening our bonds with our friends from other countries. Mr. Bagman is our head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and has worked alongside Mr. Crouch to help set up the tasks that will be presented to our Champions.”

 

Murmurs broke out around the Great Hall as Dumbledore finished, which he quieted with a hand asking for their attention.

 

“I know you are all wondering about the champions, and how they will be selected. Allow me to finally ease your curiosity, and show you our judge for the Triwizard Tournament.” He gestured over to the door nearest the staff table, and all eyes moved to follow. Filch came striding out of the room carrying a large wooden chest. He placed the chest between Dumbledore and Mr. Crouch, and slid back into the shadows behind the staff table.

 

“Mr. Crouch, Mr. Bagman, Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, and myself have worked many long hours to devise a tournament that is challenging enough to carry the name of Triwizard Tournament, but isn’t quite as deadly as its predecessors. Although the chance of mortal injury is severely reduced, do not think the tasks will be simple spell casting and minor puzzles. The champions will be pushed to the best of their abilities, magically, physically, and mentally. They must be able to think on their feet, and adapt to new and dangerous situations as they arise. Though we have done our best to ensure the tournament is safer than ever before, there exists the possibility that we may lose one of our champions to the tasks. It is for this reason that we have imposed the rule that champions must be of majority age.”

 

Dumbledore bent down to the chest near his feet, and opened it with a tap of his wand. Everyone in the Great Hall sat up a little straighter in an attempt to see what was inside.

 

“This,” he said, straightening up again, “is the Goblet of Fire.”

 

True to its name, Harry saw that the strange wooden cup seemed to be completely full of ethereal blue flames.

 

“The selection process is simple. Anyone who wishes to be considered for champion will put their name and school upon a piece of parchment, and place it in the goblet. You will have twenty-four hours to submit your name. We will announce the champions after the Halloween feast tomorrow night.”

 

Speculative conversation burst out around the Great Hall as Dumbledore finished his statement.

 

“I have a few more things to discuss before you head back to your dormitories,” Dumbledore said loudly over the din. The conversations cut off sporadically, and he waited until it was silent before speaking once more. “Two final items. Firstly, is that I will be placing an age line around the goblet to ensure that no underage student can enter.”

 

Harry heard Fred and George curse under their breaths from a few seats down the table.

 

“Secondly, it is to warn you that once your name is in the goblet, you are placed within a magical contract. If you are selected, you  _ must _ compete in the tournament. You will be unable to withdraw without sacrificing your magical abilities. I implore you to consider yourself, and your abilities, before entering your name into the goblet.”

 

The hall was silent as his words were considered by everybody present.

 

“The cup will be placed in the entry hall tonight, and will be available to those students wishing to enter. And now, I bid you goodnight.”

 

Conversation once again broke out among the students as they rose from the seats, and began filing out of the Great Hall. Harry saw Fred and George talking excitedly together just ahead. He didn’t think anybody would be able to fool a spell that Dumbledore placed, but if anybody was crafty enough to do so, it’d be them.

 

“Wonder who the Hogwarts champion will be,” Ron said, speaking for the first time since being yelled at by Hermione.

 

“Dunno,” Harry replied, “I don’t know many seventh year students.”

 

“I wish I could enter,” Ron said wistfully.

 

“You’d be killed,” Hermione said flatly, apparently still angry with Ron. “You heard Dumbledore. There’s a chance that a seventeen year old champion will be killed, someone our age wouldn’t stand a chance.”

 

“Being dead might finally get you off my back,” Ron shot back.

 

Hermione shot him a look that was part venomous, and part hurt. She stormed ahead of them, passing into the entrance hall and out of sight.

 

Ron stayed foul tempered all the way back to Gryffindor tower, where Harry excused himself quickly for bed. Dumbledore’s announcement had run longer than usual, and for once he was excited to get up as early as he usually did. He wanted to see who would be putting their names in the goblet.

 

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

 

The following morning, Harry sat quietly between his two friends, who were still refusing to speak to one another. The three of them ate quickly, wanting to go see who would be placing their name in the goblet. They had nearly finished when the morning post owls arrived, swarming into the Great Hall to the apparent surprise of the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. As the owls landed on the tables Harry heard what sounded to be curses in other languages. He didn’t understand the words they said, he certainly understood the tone. A glint of snowy white in the mass of brown owls caught his eye, and Hedwig soared down to him, a parchment strapped to her leg.

 

Harry patted her head as he untied the string holding the letter with his other hand, and offered her a piece of bacon he had left of his plate. She eagerly ate the offering, before stealing two more pieces off Ron’s plate, and flew off, back to the Owlery.

 

“Ruddy bird,” Ron complained under his breath as he grabbed a few more pieces of bacon. Harry didn’t let Ron’s bad mood get him down. He quickly looked around to see if anyone was paying attention before opening the letter.

 

_ Harry, _

 

_ I heard about the events of the World Cup, even all the way out here. I can sometimes pilfer a copy of the Prophet from somebody when they aren’t looking, and it helps keep me somewhat up to date. That Skeeter woman sure has it in for the Ministry. I bet she’d love a story like mine. It’d give her a chance to raise all sorts of hell for Fudge and the Wizengamot.  _

 

_ I’m glad you weren’t hurt in the attack, hopefully you were far enough away from the Death Eaters that you weren’t in any real danger. I expect they’d love to get their hands on you, so be sure to keep your head down! Especially with the Triwizard Tournament going on. I don’t know what Dumbledore is thinking allowing such a dangerous thing to take place at Hogwarts, but I expect he wouldn’t allow someone as young as you are to compete. Traditionally, you have to be of majority age, since something like half the champions usually get killed. _

 

_ As much as I love Hedwig, we’re going to have to start using other owls. She’s a little too noticeable. _

 

There was a long streak of ink after the word ‘noticeable’ and a few dark brown drops of what looked to be blood.

 

_ She bit me! Before I’d met her, I’d never have thought an owl could be so intelligent, but here we are. How’d you manage to find a bird that can read anyway? _

 

_ I’m trying to find some leads on where Peter went so we can put this whole mess behind us, I’d like to be a free man so I can see you graduate from Hogwarts through the eyes of a man, not a dog. _

 

_ Take care of yourself, _

_ Sirius _

 

Harry reread it a few times, cherishing one of the few letters he had ever received. He wished it were easier for him to talk to his Godfather, but just a year ago he didn’t even know he had one, and knew he’d prefer this over nothing at all. He’d have to write Sirius a reply soon. He’d probably want to know that the tournament wasn’t supposed to be nearly as deadly as it had been before. He rolled up his letter, and stuffed it in his robes while whispering to Ron that Sirius hadn’t written anything worth mentioning. He felt protective of the relatively normal letter. After all, he didn’t ask to read Ron’s letters from his mother.

 

The three of them hurried from the Great Hall to where the goblet sat in the entrance room, surrounded by Hogwarts students. Many of them were laughing, gesturing to their faces. Neville, who was standing apart from a group of Gryffindors near him, spotted them, and hurried over.

 

“Did you see it?” he asked, a small grin on his face.

 

“See what?” Harry asked, looking around the crowded hall.

 

“Fred and George! They both tried using a potion to get past Dumbledore’s age line. They were tossed out and grew great big beards!”

 

“I’d like to have seen that,” Ron said with a chuckle.

 

“They went to the hospital wing to get Madam Pomfrey to remove it. They were changing the colors of each other’s beards as they left.”

 

Harry laughed at the thought of Fred and George with their red hair and lime green beards, but cut off when the doors to the entrance hall swung open. Madame Maxime led the Beauxbatons students through the door in a line, each with a small piece of parchment clutched tightly in their hands. Harry saw the silver-blond girl at the front of the line, just behind her Headmistress. Though she was tall, and stood a full head above her other classmates, she only barely came above Madame Maxime’s waistline.

 

The noise and laughter in the hall died down when the Beauxbatons students showed up, and was replaced by whispers. Harry noticed the boys closest to the cup sporting the vacant expression he now saw on Ron’s face as well. Harry watched as the beautiful girl put her parchment in the goblet, which it accepted with a shower of sparks. He jolted when she looked directly at him after stepping out of the age line to let the next person put their name in. She looked back forward so quickly Harry wasn’t sure that he hadn’t imagined it, but he didn’t have to wonder long.

 

“She looked at me,” Ron said dreamily, “did you see?”

 

Harry saw Hermione shoot Ron a withering glance from his other side, but doubted Ron could see her, and was certain he wouldn’t care at the moment. Harry frowned at the retreating Beauxbatons students. He wouldn’t be surprised if the tale of the Boy-Who-Lived carried to other countries, but that didn’t lessen his annoyance at being stared at because of his scar.

 

The day passed slowly as students came and went from the entrance hall, some to enter their name, most to watch for the potential champions. The Weasley twins had returned from the hospital wing, now sporting multi colored beards that periodically changed color of their own accord.

 

“Got a massive lecture from Madam Pomfrey,” Fred explained, when Ron asked why they still had their knee length beards. “She said we cast too much magic at the jinx when we were changing the colors, and we overpowered the spell. Now we just have to wait for them to fall off.”

 

“It’s growing on me though,” George added with a wink.

 

The laughter that followed died down as Dumbledore entered the hall, and removed the goblet from its place at the center of the room.

 

“The entry period for the Triwizard Tournament is now closed. If everyone would kindly find their way into the Great Hall, dinner is about to be served.” Dumbledore led the students in the entrance hall towards the doors to the Great Hall, when he stopped momentarily in front of Fred and George, who were leaning against the wall, purposely looking nonchalant. The edges of Dumbledore’s twinkling blue eyes crinkled as a wide smile lifted his mustaches. The twins’ beards shifted colors at just that moment, eliciting a chuckle from the headmaster.

 

“Five points to Gryffindor,”  he said, stroking his own voluminous white beard with his free hand, “for giving me something new to aspire to.” Fred and George high-fived each other after Dumbledore had passed into the Great Hall and out of sight.

 

The following dinner was one of the most tense affairs in recent memory, with most students spending their time looking at the goblet rather than actually eating. Conversations was erratic as people jumped from speculation about possible champions, to guesses about the tasks, and dreams of spending the prize money. After what seemed like an eternity, Dumbledore finally put an end to their collective misery.

  
  


“You have been most patient,” he said as the last of the treacle tart vanished from the tables, “and it is now finally time to discover who will be representing their schools in the Triwizard Tournament.”

 

As he finished speaking, the cup’s fire shifted to the bright red of the sparks that issued forth when a student’s name was accepted. Seconds later, a parchment flew out, smoldering on the edges.

 

“Viktor Krum!” Dumbledore announced, followed by thunderous applause. “Durmstrang’s champion has been selected. Mr. Krum, would you please make your way through that door,” he instructed, indicating the doorway just behind the staff table.

 

Moments after the Krum left the room, another singed piece of parchment came flying out.

 

“Cedric Diggory, will be the champion for Hogwarts!” He called out,  Even the Slytherins cheered for the friendly Hufflepuff, who waved appreciatively on his way to the meeting room.

 

The third piece flew into the air a minute later. 

 

“Fleur Delacour will be the champion for Beauxbatons,” 

 

‘So that’s her name’, Harry thought as his eyes followed her graceful walk across the great hall. He finally knew her name. His eyes followed Fleur until the last strand of long silvery hair disappeared through the doorway. The applause was loud, with many of the male students giving a standing ovation.

 

Dumbledore raised his hands for quiet, and opened his mouth to speak. Harry could almost hear the click of the headmaster’s jaw as it slammed shut when the cup spat out one more piece of paper. The occupants of the hall seemed to hold their breath as Dumbledore snatched the fourth parchment out of the air. Harry’s heart sank when Dumbledore’s blue eyes flashed his direction, an unreadable expression passing over his aged face.

 

“Harry Potter,” he said quietly, though the hall was silent enough that his quiet voice carried across the massive room.

 

Harry’s mind raced as every eye in the room focused on him, and every mouth whispered his name. His face flushed, and he tried very hard to will himself to vanish.

 

“To the champion’s room Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore said over the whispers, his eyes unblinking and his countenance stern.

 

Harry looked to Ron and Hermione in panic. Hermione gestured him towards the staff table, her expression unreadable. Harry looked to Ron, and was surprised when the redhead wouldn’t meet his eyes. Harry slowly stood and walked towards the door that the other champions had passed through. He felt sure that his heart was hammering so hard that the people he passed must be able to hear it. Harry felt every pair of eyes on him as he passed the staff table, students and teachers alike. He wasn’t looking forward to greeting the true Triwizard Champions, but he would be glad to be out of the Great Hall.

 

Harry entered the small room to find Cedric and Fleur standing by a roaring fire at the opposite end of the room. Cedric stood, eyes unfocused, staring off at a point somewhere above the mantle. Fleur was crouched down, her hands held close to the fire, apparently attempting to warm up. Her long hair shone in the firelight, trailing slightly onto the floor behind her. It took Harry a moment to locate Krum, who had taken a spot in a dark corner. The lanky man was studying the others critically, and only spared a quick glance at Harry.

 

Fleur turned as Harry stepped further into the room, drawing up to her full height, one perfect eyebrow raised in mild surprise.

 

“Did they need us back in the hall for something?” she asked in her accented, but crystal clear voice. Cedric seemed to come back to himself when she spoke, and turned a questioning gaze to Harry.

 

“Er,” Harry mumbled, not quite sure what to say. He was saved having to elaborate by the arrival of Ludo Bagman, who was the only person who appeared excited by the event.

 

“Harry!” he said jovially as he drew closer to Harry. Bagman looked down at him with a smile, before clapping a hand to his shoulder, and addressing the other champions. Harry jumped at the contact, and couldn’t help but slide out from under Bagman’s calloused hand.

 

“Say hello to the fourth Triwizard Champion!” Bagman said bluntly, eliciting shocked expressions from Fleur and Cedric.

 

“But you’re only a fourth year,” Cedric said, looking at Harry in confusion. Harry was happy to see that there was no anger on his face, only bewilderment. “How were you able to put your name in?”

 

“I didn’t,” Harry replied quickly, looking pleadingly at Ludo Bagman. “Can’t I just withdraw or something? The rules say I’m too young to compete.”

 

Fleur looked critically at Ludo Bagman, who quickly noticed her attention.

 

“Surely there has been some mistake,” she said acidly, her eyes narrowing. “The dangers were made very clear. It was made to sound like anyone underage and underskilled would perish if they attempted to participate.”

 

“Well,” Bagman said, dragging the word out. Before he was able to fully respond, the heads of the three schools all entered, followed by Mr. Crouch, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Moody.

 

“You are correct,” Madam Maxime said, her deep voice full of disapproval.  “The tournament is far too dangerous for one as young as him.”

 

Harry felt the stirrings of annoyance underneath his panic at the repeated mention of his age, but deep down he knew they were right.

 

“The question is,” Karkaroff interjected, his dark piercing eyes focused on Dumbledore, “why does Hogwarts get two champions? It is unfair, even if he is too young.”

 

“I assure you that we had no intention of breaking the rules we all worked so hard to perfect,” Dumbledore said placatingly. He turned his gaze to Harry, who felt very small as the center of attention. “Did you put your name in the Goblet, Harry?”

 

“No sir,” Harry replied automatically looking up at the headmaster.

 

“Potter is a fair wizard,” Moody interjected, “but he’s not good enough to pass by an age line that was crafted by Dumbledore.”

 

Karkaroff and Professor McGonagall nodded in agreement, though Madam Maxime seemed unconvinced.

 

“Perhaps he asked an older student to place his name in the Goblet of Fire,” she said, having taken an almost protective position next to Fleur, who’s contemptuous gaze swept around the room.

 

“The enchantments on the cup forbid an individual to enter a name other than their own,” Mr. Crouch answered, speaking up for the first time. “Entering your name constitutes entering into a magical contract that  _ must _ be fulfilled, and you cannot enter someone else into a magical contract.”

 

“Then he must have bypassed the age line somehow,” Karkaroff spat.

 

“Even I couldn’t have bypassed an age line set by Dumbledore if I wasn’t of age,” Moody countered irritably. “Potter certainly isn’t able to do so.”

 

“Perhaps Dumbledore allowed him to pass,” Madame Maxime said, her large eyes steely, as she stared down intimidatingly at the assembled group.

 

“He did no such thing,” Professor McGonagall replied instantly, her face as angry as Harry had ever seen it. “Albus, surely Mr. Potter will not be made to compete.”

 

“I am sorry Minerva,” Dumbledore said, though his eyes were still locked on Harry. “If Harry’s name came out of the Goblet of Fire, he must compete, or forfeit his magical abilities.”

 

Dumbledore’s statement caused silence to fall upon the small room, and all eyes to fall upon Harry. 

 

“I think,” Moody said after a moment, “that if Dumbledore were trying to gain an advantage for Hogwarts in the tournament, he’d have chosen a second champion that stood an actual chance at winning any of the tasks.”

 

Madame Maxime and Karkaroff nodded slowly after a moment, both unable to fault his logic.

 

“And if Potter did somehow manage to pass an age line set by the most powerful wizard alive today and bewitch a centuries old magical artifact, then perhaps he deserves to be a fourth champion.”

 

Dumbledore nodded graciously at the praise, and turned his gaze back to Karkaroff and Madame Maxime.

 

“Are you satisfied that we have not skewed the champion results in our favor?” He asked calmly.

 

“I suppose so,” Karkaroff said reluctantly, his cold eyes shifting from Harry to Dumbledore.

 

“It would be impossible for one so young as him to best any of the true champions,” Madame Maxime replied with a glance down at Fleur, who features were still set in a look of outrage. “I do not think he should be barred from competing in order to fulfill his obligation to the magical contract.”

 

“That settles it then,” Dumbledore said. “Barty, would you please give the instructions?”

 

Harry barely heard Mr. Crouch as he informed them of the first task, though he didn’t explain what it would be, only when. He could barely sort through his thoughts. He felt mostly disbelief, with the small stirrings of irritation at having his age and lack of ability mentions so many times.

 

He stared blankly as the majority of the occupants of the room filed out when Mr. Crouch finished. He saw Cedric glance back at him just before he exited the room. Only Harry, Dumbledore, Professor Moody, and Professor McGonagall remained behind at Dumbledore’s request.

 

“Please indulge me Harry,” Dumbledore said once the door closed behind Cedric. “But now that it’s just us. Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?”

 

“No, sir!” Harry replied more vehemently than he had meant to. His shock was beginning to subside, and he felt it being replaced by anger. Dumbledore’s piercing blue eyes searched his for a moment, before he seemed to accept Harry’s statement at last.

 

“Well,” Dumbledore said to the other two professors, “if Harry did not put his name in the goblet-”

 

“Then someone else did,” Moody interjected gravely.

 

“But why would someone want Mr. Potter to compete in the tournament?” asked Professor McGonagall, her gaze shifting to Harry for a moment before returning to the headmaster..

 

“That is something we will have to discuss and speculate upon,” Dumbledore interjected, “but not right this moment.” He turned again to Harry. “I expect everyone has made their way back to the dormitories, and it is time you did so as well. I know it will be difficult, but try and get some rest tonight.”

 

Harry wanted to argue, to say that he too should be discussing who could have entered his name into the tournament, but Dumbledore’s very clear dismissal left no room for argument, and he bid the professors goodnight.

 

He was dreading returning to Gryffindor tower. He knew that nobody would believe that he hadn’t put his name in the cup, and that he’d be hounded about how he’d managed it. He hoped he’d be able to slip past everyone and talk to Ron and Hermione about it, though he expected he’d have to wait till morning. As he trudged up a flight of stairs, he felt Sirius’ letter crumple a little in the pocket of his robes. He hadn’t replied to Sirius yet, and he knew his Godfather would want to know about his situation.  He already knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep much, and it’d be nice to be looking forward to a letter from Sirius. He picked up the pace, excited to write to his Godfather.

 

XxXxXxXxX

 

As he’d expected, what seemed to be the entirety of Gryffindor was waiting in the common room to see him. Noticeably absent were Ron and Hermione, though he figured that they, like him, didn’t want to be around the rambunctious crowd. He did his best to dodge the multitude of congratulations and questions directed at him, but he still had difficulty making his way to the stairs to their dorms. After dodging questions from the Weasley twins a third time, he finally escaped up the stairs to the fourth year dorms, shutting the door behind him. Judging by the commotion that was still audible through the closed door, it would be quite late before he could slip out with his invisibility cloak to go to the owlery.

 

When Harry turned around after shutting the door, he saw Ron standing near the middle of the room. His tall red headed friend wore a half hearted smile, and greeted Harry.

 

“You’re back,” Ron said, the attempt at casualness obvious in his voice. Ron’s tone put Harry on edge. Usually his friend was an open book, and didn’t try to cover his feelings. Harry could tell that something was bothering him, but wasn’t sure how to handle a taciturn Ron.

 

“Yeah,” Harry replied wearily.

 

“Did they tell you what the first task will be?” asked Ron, genuine curiosity mingling with his constructed nonchalance.

 

“Just that it’s a test to see how well we think on our feet,” answered Harry, moving over to his trunk to pull out parchment and a quill.

 

“So they’re letting you compete?”

 

“If I don’t compete I’ll lose my magic,” Harry explained bluntly, not liking the direction of the conversation.

 

“Was Dumbledore mad that you put your name in?” Ron asked, the feigned nonchalance as thick as could be. Harry suddenly felt very heavy and tired, and dropped his quill and parchment on his bed. He had expected to be able to commiserate with his friends. Every year they all got caught up in some wild unwanted adventure, and this year was no different. Except this year it was just him, Ron and Hermione wouldn’t be in danger this time. On the one hand he was grateful that it was only him facing the dangerous tournament, and not his friends, but having Ron and Hermione at his side gave him some comfort. It troubled Harry deeply that one of the two people that truly knew him well didn’t believe him. Did Hermione think he put his name in as well?

 

“I didn’t put my name in,” Harry replied finally, repeating the phrase he must have said at least twenty times down in the common room.

 

“You can tell me,” Ron said, finally dropping his act and speaking sincerely. “I’d have liked to put my name in too, but I’m not mad that you get the chance at the glory and prize money.” Harry looked over at his friend, and saw that his words were at odds with his eyes. He felt anger of his own spark inside him. Ron had a life Harry actually dreamed of, with a family who loved him and a life where he had grown up in the magical world to which he belonged. Now Ron was getting upset that he thought that Harry entered himself in a tournament that he didn’t even care about? Harry tried to cool his anger, not wanting to lash out if he could help it, but memories of Ron complaining about how his family couldn’t afford things, and how his mother was overbearing came unbidden into his mind. Harry would trade an extra month being tortured by the Dursleys for a day in his shoes being loved by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

 

“Somebody put my name in the goblet,” Harry ground out, still trying to master his volatile emotions.

 

“You don’t have to lie to me,” Ron said, trying to sound conspiratorial, but mostly sounding angry. “You should have given me the chance to enter too, not kept it to yourself. We’re best mates aren’t we?”

 

“I thought we were,” Harry shot back in a furious burst of anger and self-pity. He really couldn’t catch a break could he? “I didn’t put my name in. I don’t care if you don’t believe me.”

 

Ron’s expression flipped from irritation to anger, and his face flushed red. Harry couldn't help but notice how much bigger his friend was than him now that Ron was angry with him. He stomped towards the door. Harry flinched as he passed by, but Ron stared stonily ahead, and slammed the dorm door behind him.

 

Harry blinked back angry tears as he looked around the room, making sure none of the other fourth year boys were there to see him. He stood rooted to the floor while he tried to calm down. He tried to focus on his letter to Sirius, rather than his anger. Surely his godfather would believe him.

 

He was thankful that nobody came to bed while he was writing his letter to Sirius, it gave him time to calm down, and write a second draft of his letter. The first had been a little too whiny for his taste.

 

_ Sirius, _

 

_ No sense in beating around the bush, so I’ll just tell you right off. I was named as the fourth champion in the Triwizard Tournament. Yes, the fourth champion. I didn’t put my name in the goblet, and Professor Moody and Professor Dumbledore both think someone must have put my name in somehow. They didn’t tell me much more than that, beyond that I have to compete. The first task is in late November, but they didn’t tell us what it was. Nobody believes that I didn’t put my name in the cup. Not even Ron. _

 

_ They did say that the tournament isn’t as dangerous as it used to be, but that there is still a lot of danger involved. So hopefully it won’t go too badly. _

 

_ Let me know if you get anything on Peter, I’d love for you to be able to come out of hiding. _

 

_ -Harry _

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

 

Harry ascended the final flight of stairs to the owlery, his letter to Sirius clutched tightly in his hand. He pulled off his invisibility cloak once he’d made sure nobody was lurking in the shadows of the owlery. He liked to come up to visit with Hedwig during his late night excursions when he couldn’t sleep, but unfortunately, couples also seemed to enjoy the privacy afforded by the remote tower. After discovering a couple doing a fair bit more than snogging, he always carefully listened for anybody in the owlery before climbing the last few steps. He was often glad for the invisibility cloak, but he had been especially glad that he hadn’t been seen by that couple, and could escape without a confrontation.

 

Once he had determined he was alone, he shrugged off the cloak, and looked up to the few owls remaining inside at night. He knew he needed an owl that could travel long distances, but he’d never had to use an owl other than Hedwig, and he didn’t really know what to look for. As if summoned by his thought of her, Hedwig soared in through one of the open windows, and landed gracefully on his shoulder.

 

“I’m sorry girl,” he said when she eyed the letter in his hand, “but I have to use a different owl.”

 

Hedwig nipped angrily at his ear, and looked pointedly at the letter.

 

“You’re just too pretty,” he said placatingly, trying to dodge a peck aimed at the side of his head. “People might recognize you, and he could be caught.”

 

She shot him a baleful look before hopping off his shoulder and onto one of the lower roosts to glower at him.

 

“That is an unusually smart bird you have there,” said an accented feminine voice from behind him. He whirled around in surprise, desperately trying to remember if he had mentioned Sirius by name. His thoughts were brought up short when he met the serious blue eyes of Fleur Delacour.

 

“Uh, yeah, she is,” he replied after a moment, gesturing in Hedwig’s general direction.

 

“What is her name?” Fleur asked after a moment, not breaking eye contact.

 

“Hedwig,” he replied, looking away from her, and up at Hedwig, who had turned her back to him.

 

“She’s beautiful,” Fleur said, having moved closer to Harry to get a better look at Hedwig. After a moment, Fleur turned back to Harry, now so close that her height made it so he had to look up to talk with her. 

 

“After we left the room earlier,” she said suddenly, “did they discover who placed your name in the goblet?”

 

“Er, what?” Harry said, struggling to keep up with the sudden change in topic.

 

“I assumed that is why they kept you behind,” she replied, “after the announcement of the champions.”

 

“Yeah,” Harry said slowly, “or rather, no, they didn’t.”

 

Fleur frowned at his reply, a little of the outrage he had seen in the room coloring her features. She appeared to be ready to say something, but Harry quickly cut in.

 

“You believe me?” he asked, desperate for someone besides Dumbledore to believe him. Especially after what happened with Ron.

 

“Of course,” she said, the outrage being replaced by a puzzled expression. “Many people tried to pass the age line put in place by your headmaster. Not a single person managed it, and if they had, and their name had been called, they would have been proud of their accomplishment, not continually deny it.”

 

Harry felt a swell of warmth form inside him. At least someone believed him, although he felt a stab of loneliness that one of the only people who did was someone from a different country. None of the people who actually knew him believed what he was saying.

 

“But you seemed so angry at me,” he said after a moment.

 

“I wasn’t angry with  _ you _ . I was angry with those Ministry officials who didn’t seem the least bit concerned that you have been roped into a life and death situation. My father has been placed at your Ministry to discover the reason why there are so many oddities and exceptions within the British wizarding laws. This is just another in a long line of issues he’s had to deal with.”

 

She seemed to remember something, and reached into the pockets of her blue robes, and withdrew a letter.

 

“That is actually the reason I am here. I wrote to my father about being selected champion, and informed him of the...irregularity of this tournament.”

 

“I was writing to my Godfather about it too,” Harry replied, holding up his slightly crumpled parchment.

 

A shadow of something seemed to pass over Fleur’s face, but before Harry could identify it, it was gone.

 

“Why not wait until the morning to send your letter?” Fleur asked.

 

“You’re here late too,” Harry replied. He certainly couldn’t tell her he was sending a letter to Britain’s most wanted man.

 

“It’s..” she hesitated a moment, looking down into Harry’s eyes, “easier for me to walk through the castle at night.”

 

Harry nodded, understanding the desire for solitude from the stare of strangers.

 

“You understand that, no?” she asked, surprising Harry by voicing his thoughts.

 

“Yeah, I do,” he said, his hand rising unconsciously to his scar. He put his hand down quickly once he realized what he was doing. If Fleur noticed, she didn’t show it, and for that Harry was grateful.

 

A silence stretched between them that Harry was unsure how to break. As far as he could tell Fleur was perfectly content to stand quietly, surrounded by owls and straw. She spoke finally, breaking the silence.

 

“Though I have enjoyed our conversation, I must send my letter and get back to the carriage. I will be missed if I am absent for too long, especially now that I am champion,” she said, with no small measure of pride in her voice.

 

Harry was surprised at her words, seeing as he had only said a few things, but he didn't argue. He had liked speaking with her as well, especially after Ron’s reaction.

 

“Me too,” he replied, “er, I liked talking with you too. Not the champion thing.”

 

She smiled at his words. “Surely you will be missed as well if you are gone too late, fourth champion or not.”

 

“I don’t like the crowded common room of our dorm much, so I tend to take walks in the evenings,” he explained, taking care not to be untruthful.

 

“Something else we have in common.” Fleur looked around at the birds that were flying in and out of the open windows for a moment, then back to Harry. “Could you tell me which ones are free to use? I cannot tell which belong to the school and which are owned by students.”

 

“It’s sort of a trial-and-error thing,” he said, walking up to a large brown owl sitting close to him. “If they offer you their leg, you’re good to go.”

 

“That seems a little...” she paused a moment before continuing, “disorganized.”

 

“You aren’t wrong,” he replied. “You can use Hedwig if you’d like. She’ll like taking a letter since she can’t take mine. She may even stop being mad at me by the time she gets back.”

 

“Thank you,” Fleur said, looking over to where Hedwig was perched, her back still to the pair of them. “Do you think she will let me?”

 

Before he could reply, Hedwig had flown down to the roost in front of them, and was offering Fleur her leg. The snowy owl stood still as Fleur tied her letter to Hedwig’s leg, and flew out the window as soon as she had finished. Harry tied his letter to the brown owl he had walked up to, and watched it fly out behind Hedwig, though noticeably slower. It’d be a long time before he got a reply from Sirius.

 

“Thank you again for offering your owl,” Fleur said, turning to him. She bid him goodnight with a smile, and left him alone in an owlery that suddenly felt colder and lonelier.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry’s first event as a champion happened a few days after his meeting with Fleur. He was saved from an astoundingly dull Potions lesson by Colin Creevey, who had been sent to escort Harry up to a classroom where the champions were gathering. Harry quietly said goodbye to Hermione, who was one of the few people who were still speaking to him in the castle. Even the other Gryffindors seemed to think along the same lines as Ron, all believing that he was trying to steal the glory from the  _ real _ champions.

 

“Here we are,” Colin said when they arrived at the classroom containing the other champions.

 

“Thanks Colin,” Harry said before knocking on the closed door.

 

The door swung open before Harry could knock a second time to reveal a smiling Ludo Bagman.

 

“Good to see you Harry, good to see you,” he said, ushering Harry into the room, and shutting the door in Colin’s face.

 

Once he was in the room, Harry saw that he was the last champion to arrive. Krum stood in a corner with Karkaroff, not far from where Cedric loitered by a window. Fleur and Madam Maxime were speaking in whispered conversation with one another across the room from where Cedric stood. Their conversation paused when Harry entered the room, and Fleur offered him a smile in greeting. He smiled back at her, before being shepherded over near Cedric by an impatient Bagman.

 

“Now that you’re here Harry, we can get started,” said Bagman.

 

“Since Dumbledore and Ollivander have not yet arrived,” came a voice that Harry didn’t recognize, “perhaps we can begin the interviews to pass the time.”

 

Harry looked over to the source of the voice, and saw a middle aged woman with glasses who was staring at him as though he were a particularly tasty meal. He fought the urge to hide behind something or someone to escape her gaze. Instead he looked away from her, and back to where Fleur ad Madame Maxime were standing, no longer caught up in conversation, but were instead eyeing the woman with weary gazes. Harry saw the woman follow his gaze from the corner of his eye, and saw her features turn almost predatory. He felt fortunate that they were interrupted by the door to the classroom swinging open.

 

“I apologize for the delay,” Dumbledore said as he closed the door quietly behind him. “Let us begin the Weighing of the Wands.”

 

“Mr. Garrick Ollivander will be our Wandmaster for today,” Dumbledore announced, his voice having taken on an official tone, “Britain’s foremost wandmaker of unparalleled skill and knowledge.”

 

Mr. Ollivander bowed deeply to the occupants of the room before stepping forward.

 

“Let us not delay any longer. Miss Delacour?” he said, holding a hand out to Fleur, who stepped towards the old wandmaker, offering her wand.

 

Mr. Ollivander considered the wand before speaking, twirling it around his fingers with a speed and nimbleness belying his age. He stopped spinning the wand, and held it in both hands.

 

“Very well put together,” he said appraisingly, turning it back and forth in his hands. “One of Emilienne’s if I am not mistaken.”

 

“It is,” Fleur confirmed, a touch of surprise on her face.

 

“She does some of the most elegant work of our generation,” he complimented, looking closely at the base. “Rosewood, with a Veela hair core…”

 

“My grandmother’s,” replied Fleur.

 

“Yes, I can see it is well suited to you…. _ Orchidius _ !” Ollivander said with a wave of Fleur’s wand. A multitude of pure white irises flew from the tip of the wand, and settled on the ground in front of Ollivander. Harry looked over at Fleur in time to see her roll her eyes slightly, before putting on a smile for the old wandmaker.

 

“Thank you,” she said, and stepped back to her place next to her headmistress.

 

“Mr. Krum,” Ollivander said, turning towards Krum’s resting place in the corner. The lanky Bulgarian offered his wand silently, before stepping back to watch.

 

“Ah,” Ollivander said at once, twirling Krum’s wand more slowly than he had Fleur’s. “Gregorovitch made this one, correct?”

 

Krum simply nodded affirmation.

 

“Finely made, as is to be expected. Heartstring of a dragon and hornbeam.  _ Avis _ !”

 

A small bird appeared in the air, and slowly fluttered to the floor among the flowers.

 

“A very obedient wand,” Ollivander said, returning the wand to its owner, “and masterfully built.”

 

“Mr. Diggory next.”

 

Cedric moved from his place next to Harry, and offered Ollivander his wand.

 

“Twelve and a quarter, ash, unicorn tail,” Ollivander rattled off as he inspected the wand, though he didn’t twirl Cedric’s as he had done for Fleur and Krum. After producing silver smoke from the wand tip, he offered it back to Cedric. “I remember making this one, as I do selling it to you seven years ago. It is in fine condition. Well done Mr. Diggory.”

 

Cedric thanked him, taking his wand back, and stepping back to his spot next to Harry.

 

“Now for Mr. Potter,” he said, taking Harry’s offered wand. “I remember this one…” he trailed off as he inspected it, turning it slowly in his knobby hands. “Holly and phoenix feather, and well maintained.”

 

Harry held his breath, hoping that Ollivander wouldn’t mention that his wand was part of a pair. He didn’t necessarily want that bit of information to get out, especially now that he was already in the limelight again as the fourth champion.

 

After forming a small fountain of red wine from the end of Harry’s wand, Ollivander handed the wand back, and stood up straight, addressing the room.

 

“I pronounce that the wands offered are all in good order, and no alterations have been placed on any of the wands. I deem all four fit to compete,” he announced officially, before stepping back from the center of the room.

 

Once the inspection was completed, Ludo Bagman stepped into the spot vacated by Mr. Ollivander.

 

“Now that we have that taken care of, it’s time to get photos of our champions!” he announced, clapping his hands together.

 

Harry spent the better part of the next hour being shuffled about by Bagman, the photographer, and the woman with the gaudy glasses, who kept attempting to pull him away from the photo group for a one on one interview. Harry was eventually rescued from being forced to give an interview by Dumbledore, who interceded on his behalf.

 

“I think that will be quite enough Ms. Skeeter,” he said sternly, stepping closer to Harry. “Harry is a minor, and therefore unable to give interviews or statements without the permission of his guardians. The other three champions are bound by no such rules. Perhaps you will find greener pastures with them.”

 

Harry watched as she all but stomped over to where Cedric was standing, and began what sounded like a very uncomfortable interview.

 

Dumbledore led Harry from the room a few moments later, and escorted him down the hall.

 

“I would advise you to keep your distance from Rita Skeeter,” said Dumbledore, after walking in silence for a few minutes. “She has an unusual knack for digging up information you would rather stay hidden, and filling in any missing details with her own ideas.”

 

“Yes sir,” Harry said automatically, though he was surprised by Dumbledore’s candidness.

 

“If she does attempt to approach you again, please refer her to either Professor McGonagall, or myself.”

 

“Yes sir,” Harry replied again.

 

Dumbledore smiled down at Harry in answer, before quickly changing the subject.

 

“So you’ve met with the Beauxbatons champion,” he said casually, causing Harry to almost stumble in surprise. He hadn’t even told Hermione that he’d met Fleur in the owlery.

 

“Er, yes sir, I did,” Harry answered, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.

 

Dumbledore chuckled. “I am gratified to see you doing as I have asked, and forming bonds within the other schools. It is not unheard of for champions of the Triwizard Tournament to form lifelong friendships. It is not a title many will share with you, regardless of who actually becomes the Triwizard Champion.”

 

“It was only one conversation,” Harry said, feeling transparent under Dumbledore’s smiling gaze.

 

“All great friendships must begin with a first meeting,” Dumbledore replied. “Do not discount a single conversation as unimportant, Harry.”

 

“I won’t sir,” promised Harry.

 

Dumbledore stopped walking, and turned to Harry. “This is where I will leave you. Please return to your classes, and don’t forget what I have said about Ms. Skeeter.”

 

“I won’t sir,” Harry reiterated. He wanted to avoid the reporter completely if he could manage it.

 

Without another word, Dumbledore swept down the hallway that contained the gargoyle leading to his office, leaving Harry to walk back to class alone.

 

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

 

Harry recounted the weighing of the wands, and Dumbledore’s warning to Hermione when they returned to Gryffindor tower that evening. He had decided to include Dumbledore’s praise about meeting Fleur, even at the risk of more teasing. He didn’t want to risk losing his last friend by keeping secrets.

 

As Harry had predicted, Hermione was unable to keep from commenting on his conversation with Fleur.

 

“So,” she said, attempting nonchalance, “when did you have the chance to meet up with her?”

 

“Right after my name came out of the goblet,” Harry explained, having resigned himself to telling the whole story the moment he had decided to tell the truth. “When I was taking the letter to…” he trailed off, making sure nobody was sitting within earshot. A loud game of exploding snap between Dean and Ron was doing a good job of keeping their conversation from being overheard. “-to Sirius.” he finished quietly, just in case.

 

Hermione nodded, prompting him further.

 

“She came up to mail a letter to her dad at the Ministry, and we talked a bit. Nothing special,” he said with a shrug.

 

“That must have been her dad with her at the World Cup,” Hermione said after a moment. “Fudge said he was the French Ambassador.”

 

Harry goggled at her for a moment before replying.

 

“How on earth do you remember things like that?” he asked in amazement. He wasn’t sure if he could remember what he’d eaten for breakfast the day before.

 

“Not all of us had our eyes glued to pretty older witches,” Hermione said haughtily.

 

Harry felt his face flush, and changed the subject.

 

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

 

Harry began to feel the shadow of the first task fall over him as the days passed. His dread seemed to give extra vigor to the passage of time, as the days seemed to speed by ever faster as the twenty-fourth of November drew nearer. Just when he was sure he couldn’t handle the formless nightmares of the first task any longer, Hagrid showed him exactly what form his nightmares needed to take.

 

Even though it’d been weeks since he and Ron had argued, Harry first instinct was to tell his ex-best-friend about the dragons. He had thought the passage of time would dull the sadness he felt at Ron’s departure, but he still found himself turning to where Ron should’ve been when he wanted to make a crack at Malfoy.

 

Hermione had wisely counseled him to write to Sirius for ideas, as well as convinced him to tell Cedric of the threat the champions faced. His godfather’s reply had been a ray of hope, and had given them a course of action for the final days leading to the first task. He felt confident he could perform the summoning charm by the evening before the first task. Whether he could do it while face to face with a live dragon was another matter entirely.

 

The day of the first task passed unreasonably fast. Harry felt as though he had just woken up, when he found himself being led to the champion’s tent by Professor McGonagall.

 

“Just do your best Mr. Potter,” she said to him when they reached the large tent. “There are precautions in place should things go badly, but I hope they will not be needed.”

 

“Yes ma’am,” he answered automatically, though he thought it may have sounded more like a croak than actual words.

 

Harry saw Fleur, Cedric, and Krum all standing inside the small tent in opposite corners. Small chairs sat in the middle of the room, though none were being used by the four nervous champions. Fleur and Cedric stood white-faced, staring off at nothing, while Krum merely appeared bored. Harry supposed that Krum would also be attempting to fly around the dragon, which likely wouldn’t be a problem for the world-class seeker.

 

“Harry!” Ludo Bagman exclaimed. “Now that you’re here, we can get started.”

 

He pulled a small black bag from within his robes, and held it out in front of him.

 

“In this first task,” he announced grandly, “you will be facing off against a  _ dragon _ .”

 

He paused, looking to the faces of each champion for a reaction. Apparently word had gotten to Fleur and Krum as well. Neither looked shocked at the pronouncement.

 

“Well,” Bagman continued, his tone a little disappointed at the lack of reaction, “you won’t have to defeat a dragon, but you will be required to secure a special egg from it’s nest. Among the eggs in the nest we have placed a special golden egg. You will retrieve it, and cross the goal line. Points will be awarded based upon speed of completion, ingenuity, and daring. Points will be deducted for injuries to yourself, or destruction of any of the dragon eggs.”

 

After a small briefing on the scoring system, Bagman produced a bag from inside his cloak, and offered it to the champions.

 

“Inside is a small figure of the dragon you will be competing against. Miss Delacour, please draw first.”

 

Fleur stepped forward, and pulled a small green dragon from the bag.

 

“A Welsh Green!” Bagman announced as Fleur stepped back into the corner. He offered the bag to Krum, who pulled a Chinese Fireball, and Cedric, who pulled out a small Swedish Short-Snout. When Bagman approached Harry, he a had a pitying look on his face.

 

“Terribly sorry Harry,” he said consolingly, as he tipped the last dragon from the bag into Harry’s hands. “Rules are rules though, it’s got to be random.”

 

Harry looked down at the small dragon figure in his hands, recognizing it from his trip to the dragon pens with Hagrid. It had taken a few volleys of stunners from more than a few witches and wizards to bring the Hungarian Horntail down while he was there. Charlie Weasley had seemed especially worried about the champion that had to face that dragon.

 

Harry felt his stomach drop as he imagined staring down the large dragon he had seen in the pens. Whoever put his name in the goblet seemed to want him hurt, or killed. He sat heavily into one of the small wooden chairs that had been provided. Seemed like whoever that was just may get their wish.

 

Through the thin tent walls, Harry heard Mr. Crouch announce the official start of the Triwizard Tournament, and explain to the crowd the challenges of the first task. Once he had finished, Ludo Bagman turned to Krum, and gestured him towards the front of the tent.

 

“You’ve been selected to go first,” he said, as Krum walked quietly forward. “Best of luck Mr. Krum.”

 

Harry admired Krum’s resolve from his place on the chair. His own legs wouldn’t support him due to nerves, but Krum stood, rock steady and head held high, waiting for his queue.

 

“Our first champion for the day,” Mr. Crouch’s voice called out, “will be Viktor Krum!”

 

Krum disappeared through the tent flap to the cheers of the onlookers. Bagman followed him out, closing the tent flap behind him.

 

Harry sat in silence with Fleur and Cedric, who had both taken seats in the chairs.

 

“So,” Cedric said slowly, his voice cracking a little, “have you both got a plan?”

 

“ _ Oui _ ,” Fleur answered, though she was clearly lost in her own thoughts.

 

“Sort of,” Harry managed, though he wasn’t feeling to confident in his plan to fly on a broom made of wood around a fire breathing dragon.

 

Cedric gave a short, humorless laugh.

 

“Me too. Thanks for telling me about them Harry,” Cedric said gratefully. “I’d probably be burnt to a crisp otherwise.”

 

Cedric statement seemed to shake Fleur from her thoughts, and she gave Harry a surprised look.

 

“If you have a plan,” Cedric said to her, drawing her blue eyes over to him, “then you must have heard about them ahead of time as well.”

 

“I did,” she said, but before she could elaborate, a cheer rose from the crowd that seemed to signal Krum’s triumph. Ludo Bagman’s amplified voice called out over the cheers, confirming that Krum had managed to successfully complete his challenge.

 

“Up next,” Bagman called, causing the three of them to stiffen, all waiting to hear their name, “is Cedric Diggory!”

 

Cedric stood slowly, seemingly unsure if he’d be able to stand.

 

“Good luck,” Cedric called over his shoulder as he walked towards the tent flap.

 

“You too,” chorused Harry and Fleur before he too vanished to face his dragon.

 

A cheer arose once again as the tent flap fell shut, leaving Harry and Fleur alone in the tent. Months before, Harry would have been a mixture of overjoyed and extremely nervous to know he’d be alone in a tent with Fleur. With the threat of pending incineration present though, he only felt nervous about the task ahead.

 

“You told him of the dragons?” she asked, once the cheers died down.

 

“Yeah,” Harry said simply. “You found out too?”

 

“A certain amount of…impropriety is to be expected during the Triwizard Tournament. It’s as much a traditional part of the tournament as the Goblet of Fire.”

 

“Nobody told me that,” Harry groused. He didn’t mean to sound petulant, but the unfairness of his situation was beginning to wear on him. He began to worry that he’d annoyed her, when he saw her features grow angry.

 

“It is certainly unfair that you were entered into the tournament against your will,” she said angrily, her blue eyes flashing, “but that is no reason that it should continue to be made more difficult for you!”

 

Harry blinked in surprise as she finished. He’d been expecting her to finish with a ‘but quit whining about it’ or a ‘grow up’. He hadn’t been expecting yet more outrage on his behalf.

 

Before he could express his gratitude, another cheer cut through the crowd drowning out anything he might have said.

 

“Well done!” came Bagman’s voice again, booming over the cheers. “Fast and effective! I expect he’ll get high marks for this one!”

 

After Fleur’s name was called, she offered Harry a nervous smile before leaving him alone in the tent.

 

Determined not to get too caught up in worry, he settled on repeating ‘ _ Accio Firebolt’  _ over and over. He figured the repetition may help him manage to get the words out even when being stared down by the giant dragon.

A lethargic cheer went up from the crowd minutes later as Fleur seemed to successfully complete her challenge as well. Harry wasn’t given the opportunity to wonder at the less than enthusiastic reaction, as his name was quickly called by Mr. Bagman, who sounded as though he was stifling a yawn.

 

Harry braced himself, forcing his shaking body to walk out of the tent, and into the glaring sunlight. He was met by a chorus of jeers from the Hogwarts students, which he had expected. He was surprised, and grateful to see the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students cheering enthusiastically for him, while shooting puzzled looks over at the students from his own school.

 

“Ready Harry?” Bagman asked from his place next to the tent, his voice back to normal.

 

Harry merely nodded, knowing he had no choice but to attempt the daunting task.

 

He stepped forward, looking down into the large rocky enclosure that house the Hungarian Horntail, who seemed to have already marked Harry as a threat. The cheers and jeers of the crowd faded into a dull roar as he looked into the eyes of the dragon. He knew he had to summon his Firebolt, but could barely lift his hand. His mouth felt as dry as if he’d been in a desert for weeks. He licked his lips, trying to force his body to do his bidding. If he didn’t make an attempt here, he’d never be able to cast the summoning charm again, or anything else for that matter. The thought of a life outside of the magical world finally brought his body back under control, and he was able to lift his arm.

 

‘ _ Accio Firebolt’ _ he called, his wand held high. In moments he saw his broom speeding towards him from the castle. He hopped on when it stopped next to him, and kicked off the ground. As he flew high into the air, he saw the dragon tracking him, though it made no move to leave the next that held Harry’s objective.

 

He gripped the broom handle so hard he was sure it might crack underneath his grip, and began a dive at the dragon. The wind rushed by him, roaring in his ears. He tried to visualize the egg underneath the dragon as the golden snitch, and the head and tail of the dragon as especially vicious bludgers that were out to get him. A large burst of flame shattered that illusion as he was forced to abandon his dive, and take refuge behind a cluster of large rocks that had been placed in the arena.

 

He floated behind the rocks, checking to make sure the tail of his broom hadn’t been caught in the flames. The perfectly aligned twigs appeared untouched, and he let out a sigh of relief. The Horntail gave a roar of frustration when Harry didn’t emerge, and he heard it begin moving towards him. He couldn’t believe his luck, he may be able to stay out of sight of the dragon and snatch the unguarded egg before it ever noticed him. He listened as hard as he could, trying to judge which direction the Horntail was coming from, floating slowly around the large rocks to stay opposite the dragon.

 

He turned, and flew slowly around other rock outcroppings behind him, taking care not to brush or bump any of the large boulders, and give away his position. He slowly made his way through the maze of rocks, pausing whenever he heard the Horntail moving to try and find him. He could feel his heart trying to beat it’s way out of his chest as he neared the backside of the dragon’s nest. As he came around the last rock formation between him and the nest, he saw the large golden egg glinting in the sunlight. He couldn’t believe it, he was mere feet from grabbing the egg, and speeding towards the exit.

 

He leaned forward on his broom, and sped towards the nest. The egg was larger than a snitch, but he figured he would only need to slow down for a moment to grab it, before completely opening up the firebolt and racing for the exit. He locked his gaze on the egg, and leaned to the right to grab it as he passed by. It was not as heavy as he’d been expecting, and easily righted himself on the broom. Once secure, he turned towards the exit, holding tight to his prize.

 

The shout of the crowd dimly registered in his mind as he began hurtling towards the arena exit. It was the only warning he got before the Hungarian Horntail lunged towards him from the left, a jet of furious fire shooting towards him. He knew he was going too fast to avoid the flames completely, and pushed the Firebolt for every last ounce of speed it could muster. He ducked his head to his chest trying to protect his face and egg from the flames, and barrelled through the fiery dragon’s breath. He felt the heat hit him like a wall, and throw him from his broom. He could feel the left side of his body protesting the heat as he sailed through, his momentum carrying him toward the exit.

 

He opened his right eye as he fell toward the exit, happy to see that even though it would be a hard impact, he’d land outside the arena, and complete the task. He’d broken arms before, and at least he’d complete the requirements of the magical contract. He closed his eye as he passed through the exit, bracing himself for the hard impact with the ground.

 

The impact never came, and he landed in what felt like a massive pillow. He opened his eye again, to see a ghostly pale Professor McGonagall running towards him, her wand in hand.

 

“Don’t move Harry,” she said weakly, slowing down as she neared him. He tried to open his mouth, to tell her that he was fine since he didn’t hit the ground, but he couldn’t seem to get it open, and only a hoarse throaty noise issued from him.

 

“ _ Do not speak,” _ his head of house commanded as she walked alongside him. He realized that the soft pillow seemed to be carrying him away from the arena. Before he could ask where they were going, he heard the familiar voice of Madam Pomfrey, though she seemed significantly more upset than he ever remembered her being. He turned his head to greet her, and tried to tell her he was fine.

 

“Don’t move!” she exclaimed as he turned his head towards her. He frowned in confusion, though he only felt the right side of his mouth turn down. He let go of the golden egg in his right hand, and lifted it towards his face. Somewhere far away, he felt his body vehemently protest his movement, but he wasn’t given the chance to investigate. He saw Madam Pomfrey gesture to Professor McGonagall.

 

He heard a whispered ‘ _ Stupify’  _ from behind him, and his world went dark.

  
  


XxXxXxXxXxXxX

 

Harry awoke suddenly to what he thought appeared to be a familiar blurry scene. He reached a hand out to the bedside table he knew to be nearby, and plucked his glasses from their place. Once the hospital wing was back in focus, he sat slowly up in his bed and surveyed the room. It seemed to be midday, as the sun shone bright through the frosty windows on either side of the room.

 

Harry stopped in his examination of the room as the information sank in. Frosty windows? Just how long had he been asleep? He slowly twisted in bed, moving his legs to dangle off the side of the bed. Before he could stand, the door to Madam Pomfrey’s office swung open, and the mediwitch hurried over to where Harry sat.

 

“Lie down,” she commanded in a tone that Harry was quite accustomed to. He obeyed, swinging his legs back on the bed, allowing her to pass her wand over his body.

 

“How do you feel?” she asked as her wand traced his left leg.

 

“Thirsty,” he said, his voice rough from disuse.

 

“Water on the bedside table,” Madam Pomfrey replied, her attention locked on her wand and his leg.

 

After a couple glasses of water, he layed back down, allowing Madam pomfrey access to his left arm.

 

“How do you feel?” she repeated.

 

“Okay I guess,” he said with a shrug. The motion seemed to pull his left arm up off the bed a little, before letting it drop when his shoulder lowered.

 

Madam Pomfrey looked approvingly at the hand that just dropped, and continued her assessment.

 

“The skin isn’t quite as elastic as it should be, but that’s to be expected. You’ll have to ‘break it in’, so to speak .”

 

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, trying to think back to the last thing he remembered. “Did Professor McGonagall stun me?”

 

Madam Pomfrey finally stopped her examination and fixed him with a surprisingly gentle gaze.

 

“What do you remember?” she asked gently.

 

“I remember picking up the golden egg,” he began, scrunching up his brow in thought. “And getting kicked off my broom by that blast of fire. I remember falling through the exit and being caught by a big pillow. Then I remember hearing Professor McGonagall stun me.”

 

Madam Pomfrey nodded, rubbing the bridge of her nose wearily.

 

“To answer your question, Minerva did indeed stun you, but it was for your own good.” 

 

She raised a hand, forestalling any of Harry’s questions.

 

“Mr. Potter, you weren’t thrown from your broom in that dragon’s burst of fire, it was incinerated out from under you.”

 

Harry almost sat upright in surprise at her words, but her firm hand on his chest kept him down as she continued.

 

“You suffered third degree burns over the majority of the left side of your body from flying through the dragon’s flame. Minerva caught you as you fell with the cushioning charm, and was levitating you toward the medical tent. I had her stun you so you wouldn’t cause any extra damage to yourself by moving around.”

 

“So I’ve been in the hospital wing since then?” he asked, trying to wrap his head around what he’d been told.

 

“Goodness no,” Madam Pomfrey said as she concluded her examination. “I’m not able to treat such significant injuries here. You were transported to the medical tent where you stayed until Professor Snape was able to bring some Draught of Living Death for you.”

 

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise at the pronouncement.

 

“We couldn’t very well keep stunning you over and over until you recovered now could we,” she said in answer to his expression. “After that you were taken by floo to St. Mungo’s, where you stayed for two weeks, before being returned to Hogwarts. You were given the antidote to the draught this morning.”

 

Harry attempted to process what he’d heard. He looked down at his left arm, which felt as though it were wrapped in something a little too tight.

 

“They had to regrow the skin on your left side,” Madam Pomfrey said bluntly, following his gaze. “There’s not much else they can do in cases like that. You’ll notice differences all over your body from the regrowth process, even on your uninjured side. That scar you got from the compound fracture in your second year is gone,” she said, pointing to his right arm where his bone had pierced the skin when he had fallen from his broom during a match in his second year. Harry ignored her gesture, his right hand flying to his forehead, where he felt the all too familiar ridges of his lightning bolt scar.

 

“Not that one,” said Madam Pomfrey gently, “we all know that one is a little different.”

 

Harry nodded mutely, letting his arm fall to his side.

 

“Naturally, Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley have been to see you while you were unconscious. Mr. Diggory and the Beauxbatons champion stopped by as well once you had returned. They were the only students besides the Durmstrang champion to see your condition in the medical tent, so they were happy to see you have recovered.”

 

Harry nodded again, though on the inside his mind was racing. Ron had come to visit him as well? He wasn’t sure he liked the way it took being severely injured by a dragon to make Ron believe that he hadn’t entered the tournament on his own, but he did like the idea of having his friend back.

 

Madam Pomfrey produced a small red ball from a pocket, and tapped it with her wand, muttering something under her breath. Once finished, the ball floated slowly out of her hand, and into the air, making lazy figure-eights in front of him.

 

“In order to regain full motion on your left side, you’ll need to work on stretching it out by catching this with your left hand. When you catch it, I want you to bend your left leg as far as is comfortable, then lower it when you’ve caught the ball again. Repeat this, trying to bend your leg further each time. The ball will get incrementally faster as you catch it, so don’t be surprised if it becomes more difficult. Once your arm grows too tired, let me know, and we’ll get you some dinner.”

 

Harry nodded, raising his left hand slowly into the air to try and grab the moving ball. Before his first attempt, he remembered something he’d wanted to ask Madam Pomfrey since she had begun filling him him.

 

“What day is it, ma’am?” he asked as she walked away from his bed.

 

“It’s December fifteenth.”

 

Harry spent the rest of the afternoon trying to grapple with everything he’d been told, while absentmindedly attempting to catch the small flying ball, and bending his leg as he’d been instructed. He expected he’d missed a lot in the three weeks he’d been unconscious.

 

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

 

Harry was released from the hospital wing two days later with the instruction to head directly to Dumbledore’s office. He walked contemplatively down the empty halls, bending his left arm as he walked. Madam Pomfrey’s floating ball therapy hadn’t been terribly onerous, only tedious, but they helped a great deal in relieving most of the too-tight sensation he’d been feeling since he awoke.

 

The halls to Dumbledore’s office were surprisingly deserted as he made his way through them, his only company being from the Grey Lady, who didn’t speak, and eventually floated off through one of the corridor walls. He didn’t see another person until he’d made it to Dumbledore’s office.

 

“Come in,” came Dumbledore’s voice when Harry knocked on the large office door.

 

He opened the door to see Dumbledore sitting behind his desk, unwrapping what Harry assumed to be a lemon drop.

 

“Please Harry, have a seat.”

 

Harry dutifully sat down, his left leg extended. He had tried to bend his leg into a sitting position while in the hospital wing, but he had been unable to recover the full range of motion while he’d been there. He saw Dumbledore look down concernedly at Harry’s leg, before turning his gaze back to Harry.

 

“How are you feeling Harry?” he asked as he popped the lemon drop into his mouth.

 

“I’m fine sir,” Harry replied, not feeling terribly untruthful. His left side was still rather stiff, but he wasn’t in any pain.

 

“Poppy has kept me informed of your recovery since you’ve returned from St. Mungos. I was glad to hear that you’d had such success with the treatment given to you.”

 

“Me too,” Harry said with a smile, flexing his elbow for emphasis.

 

Dumbledore smiled, but his expression quickly turned serious.

 

“I asked that you come to my office so that I may inform you of some discussions between Alastor and myself.”

 

Harry listened attentively, sitting up straighter.

 

“After your incident with the Horntail, we believe it likely that someone placed your name in the goblet with the intent of doing you great harm, or possibly with the hopes of ending your life.”

 

Harry felt a little disappointed in the revelation. It wasn’t as though he didn’t appreciate Dumbledore’s candidness, but he almost felt as though their conclusion was obvious.

 

“I can tell that doesn’t surprise you,” Dumbledore said.

 

Harry nodded.

 

“I hope you do not think less of us Harry, but we did need to entertain the possibility that you entered the tournament on your own in some manner.”

 

Harry frowned, feeling a familiar mix of hurt and anger. He’d spent most of his time in the hospital wing imagining what it would be like when he saw Ron again. Now he knew that it really had only been Sirius, Hermione, Hagrid, and Fleur who believed him.

 

“Please do not think we find you untrustworthy,” Dumbledore continued. “Truth be told, we had hoped that you were not telling the truth, and had somehow tricked the cup and my spell. The fact that you did not, means that someone is indeed after you, and we must be vigilant if we are to ensure that they do not succeed in their goals.”

 

“But who would want to kill me, sir?” Harry asked, puzzled. It was a question he had wondered often before the first task, but had no answer to.

 

“Can you think of no-one?” Dumbledore asked in answer.

 

Harry paused, irritated. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t given the matter enough thought prior to the first task. The only person that disliked him enough to want him dead was likely Malfoy, but he still didn’t think Malfoy would have been able to place his name in the goblet.

 

“Is there not someone who’s plans you have thwarted three different times now?” Dumbledore asked, leading Harry towards an answer.

 

The question brought Harry up short. The only ‘plans’ he could possibly claim to have thwarted would be Quirrell in his first year, and Voldemort’s shade in his second year. Again his thoughts were brought up short, as he remembered a few days previous in the hospital wing. His hand rose again to the familiar scar on his forehead.

 

“Voldemort?” Harry asked quietly, his hand still on his scar.

 

“I’m afraid so,” Dumbledore said gently. “Though, to be a little more accurate, we suspect it may be some of his followers.”

 

“Death Eaters?” asked Harry, letting his hand fall to his side.

 

“The very same,” Dumbledore said with a sigh, leaning back in his tall chair. “As you are aware, there was significant Death Eater activity at the World Cup.”

 

Harry nodded, trying to force down the image that had plagued his nightmares for months after the Cup.

 

“Surprisingly, it is not the Death Eater activity that is most concerning,” Dumbledore said, steepling his fingers. “It is that there were two individual Death Eater groups causing chaos that night.”

 

“Couldn’t they just have been working together, sir?” asked Harry, furrowing his brow in confusion.

 

“A good thought,” Dumbledore complimented, “but we can be almost certain there were two individual groups, due to the appearance of two seperate Dark Marks. We believe it to have been a signal of sorts, from one group to the other, to let them know that they weren’t alone in their convictions that night. In the past, even if there were multiple Death Eater groups working towards the same goal, only one Dark Mark was cast when they completed their task.”

 

“But what’s that got to do with me?” Harry asked.

 

Dumbledore sighed. “Beyond the fact that you are the one who put an end to their master’s reign of terror, we aren’t sure. Increased Death Eater activity is always of grave concern, but at the moment we have nothing concrete to tie them to your participation in the Triwizard Tournament beyond mere suspicion.”

 

Harry nodded slowly, once again feeling as though he was going to leave Dumbledore’s office with far more questions that he had upon entering.

 

“I will let you know if we discover anything. Alastor and I are keeping watch here at school, while we have a number of contacts in the Ministry looking into it as well.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” replied Harry.

 

“On that note, I will not keep you any longer,” Dumbledore said, waving his office door open with his hand. “As it is Saturday, your friends are likely down in Hogsmeade. I suspect that if you hurry, you will be able to return to Gryffindor tower unaccosted before the students return.”

 

Harry nodded, bidding Dumbledore goodbye as he shut the large office door behind him.

 

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

 

Harry sat anxiously on the edge of his four poster bed, rolling the golden egg around his his hands. He had returned to find the egg sitting atop his pillow, though he had been too distracted waiting for Ron and Hermione’s return to investigate the egg much at all. Just when he thought he may go down and wait in the warmer common room for them, the door to the dormitory swung open, revealing a red-nosed Ron dressed in a heavy winter cloak.

 

Ron stopped dead in his tracks, his wide eyes fixed on Harry. Before Harry could say anything, Run turned and shouted down the stairs.

 

“ _ Hermione! _ ” he called out, his voice cracking from the volume of his shout.

 

Harry heard hard footsteps running up the stairs, and a similarly garbed Hermione slid passed Ron into the dorm. She too came up short when she saw him, as though she couldn’t believe her eyes. Her pause was short lived, as she quickly barreled into him, embracing him in a hug that knocked him flat onto the bed.

 

He was grateful that she was so happy to see him, and patted her back a little awkwardly. He still didn’t like being hugged so intensely, but he enjoyed the sentiment.

 

“I’m sorry!” she said, quickly letting him go and standing up, straightening her heavy cloak. “I know you don’t-we were so worried!” Her voice was coming out high and fast, and she was wiping at her eyes with the cuff of her robes.

 

Harry looked over at Ron, who nodded agreement, before breaking eye contact with Harry and looking at the floor.

 

“I’m okay,” Harry said, getting to his feet. “Almost good as new.”

 

“They wouldn’t tell us how badly you’d been hurt,” Hermione said, her voice still slightly hysterical. “but they did say that you’d been taken to St. Mungos. Hagrid said that dragon’s fire can vary between three thousand and nine thousand degrees depending on the breed. We tried to ask Fleur and Cedric about it, but they would only go pale, and not say anything.”

 

“It’s okay,” Harry said, “I’m okay now. No need to worry about it.”

 

Hermione looked torn between wanting to protest, and wanting to take Harry’s offer to stop talking about it.

 

She was saved having to make a decision by Ron, who spoke up for the first time.

 

“Your hand looks really strange,” he said, pointing to Harry’s left hand, “it hasn’t got any wrinkles on the knuckles. Looks like a bunch of sausage links.”

 

“ _ Ron!” _ Hermione said, looking angrily over at him, but Harry began to laugh.

 

“I thought the same thing,” Harry said, rolling up his sleeve to expose his elbow. “There’s no crease here, behind my knee, or on my toes either.”

 

“That’s mental,” Ron said, leaning in for a closer look.

 

“Yeah,” Harry said, offering his arm for the both of them to look at. “They had to regrow all the skin, so I have to ‘break it in’ I guess.” He could tell that this was the wrong thing to say, as both his friends grew immediately somber.

 

“How much did they have to regrow?” Hermione asked quietly, her eyes locked on his hand, rather than his eyes.

 

“Madam Pomfrey said it was pretty much my whole left side,” he replied, trying to sound nonchalant about it.

 

“You got third degree burns over your entire left side?!” Hermione asked, her voice rising once again. “Harry that could have killed you! No wonder Fleur and Cedric didn’t want to talk about it. A third degree burn is far worse than any other burn you’ve had in your life!”

 

Unbidden, the smell of burning bacon and a hot skillet on his arm flashed into his mind, but he ruthlessly suppressed the memory.

 

“That’s actually sort of what Dumbledore said too,” Harry said, desperately wishing to change the subject.

 

“Sort of?” asked Ron.

 

“Yeah,” Harry said, “I had to go see him after I got out of the hospital wing. He said that he and Moody think someone is trying to do me in.”

 

“But who could have put your name in the goblet though?” Hermione asked, glancing surreptitiously at Ron.

 

“They don’t know yet,” Harry answered, “Dumbledore seems to think it has something to do with Death Eaters, but I don’t think they’d be able to sneak into the castle.”

 

“No,” Hermione said, “I wouldn’t think so either.”

 

“About that,” Ron said quite loudly, startling both Harry, Hermione, and apparently himself, as the red head seemed surprised that he had spoken.

 

“Er, about the goblet thing,” he clarified, his eyes on the floor. “I’m really sorry Harry. I was way out of line. I know you didn’t put your name in the goblet. I knew it even before the whole dragon thing, but I thought you might not want to talk to me after the way I acted.”

 

He seemed to gather himself, and quickly barreled on.

 

“When we saw you fly through that fire, and fall toward the ground…” he trailed off. “Well, like Hermione said, we were worried. I thought I might not get the chance to tell you I was sorry, so I wanted to do it as soon as I could, whether you still wanted to be my friend or not.”

 

“It’s okay,” Harry said after a moment. The sting of Ron’s accusations still hurt a little, but he knew he’d get over it eventually. He’d rather have things back to normal than stew on his anger.

 

Ron grinned tentatively at Harry, and Harry returned the smile, grateful to have things back as they should be.

 

Hermione muttered something under her breath that suspiciously sounded like ‘ _ finally’ _ , but then spoke up.

 

“Professor McGonagall told us to send you to her as soon as you were back. She said she’s got information for you about the second task, and the Yule Ball.”

 

“The Yule Ball?” Harry asked, perplexed.

 

Ron groaned in answer, gesturing towards his trunk.

 

“It’s the reason for those hideous dress robes. On Christmas night there’s going to be a massive dance. I expect McGonagall will tell you all about it. You’ll have to find a date too, though I expect the ‘tragic hero’ angle won’t hurt your chances.”

 

“ _ Ronald!” _ Hermione admonished again, giving him a swat on the arm.

 

Harry looked to Ron’s face for any sign of jealousy or irritation, but found only genuine mirth, and laughed along with his friend at Hermione’s outrage. Despite the strange feeling lingering in his left arm and leg, Harry felt better than he had in months.

 


	7. Chapter 7

“Sit down, Mr. Potter ,” Professor McGonagall said as Harry entered her classroom.

 

After speaking at length with Ron and Hermione about what he’d missed while unconscious, he sought out his head of house as instructed. Her usually stern visage was more tired than anything, as she shuffled stacks of essays around on her desk to make a small space in front of her. She clasped her hands together over the empty space, and motioned to the seat in front of her desk.

 

“I am  _ very _ happy to see you well,” she said as Harry sat down, her tone far kinder than he had ever heard before.

 

“Thank you Professor,” he replied earnestly.

 

“How are you feeling?” she asked, her green eyes focused on Harry’s own.

 

He turned away from her intent gaze, and stared down at his left hand resting on the desk.

 

“Pretty good actually,” Harry replied truthfully, flexing his left hand slowly. “Though still a little stiff.”

 

“Poppy explained the extent of your injuries?”

 

Harry nodded in reply.

 

“I asked you here for a number of reasons Mr. Potter. Foremost of which, I wanted to apologize for stunning you, and to let you know that I would not have done it were it not in your best interest.”

 

“That’s what Madam Pomfrey said,” Harry replied sincerely, “I understand, Professor.”

 

Professor McGonagall simply nodded before quickly shifting subjects.

 

“As much as I’d prefer to allow you some time to recuperate, time marches onward, and you still must participate in the second and third tasks.”

 

Harry suppressed a groan. Somehow, in all the madness surrounding the first task and the following events, he’d managed to forget that he had to do it two more times.

 

“Regarding the second task,” she began, slipping away from her more gentle tone back into her brisk lecturing one. “I had the golden egg you secured delivered to your dormitory. It will be your clue as to the nature of the second task. The other champions have had three weeks to examine their clues, so I suggest you get to work as quickly as you are able. The second task will take place on the twenty-fourth of February.”

 

Harry once again nodded mutely, the weight of the tournament settling on him once again.

 

“We must also discuss the Yule Ball.”

 

“Ron and Hermione mentioned it,” Harry said, recalling Ron’s awful, frilly dress robes that he’d received at the Burrow. “They said we need dates.”

 

“That is correct,” answered Professor McGonagall.

 

“I would prefer to just skip it, Professor,” Harry said, hoping that, for once, his head of house would be lenient.

 

“You, out of everyone, must go,” she replied. “The champions are the ones who traditionally open the ball with a dance.”

 

“But I’m not even a  _ real _ champion, Professor,” Harry said desperately, “and I don’t even know how to dance.”

 

“Then I would suggest that you practice,” she said, blatantly ignoring his protest. “The ball is restricted to students of fourth year and above, but you may invite someone from the younger years if you wish. I trust you purchased dress robes as you were instructed?”

 

“Yes Professor,” Harry answered defeatedly, realizing that he hadn’t actually opened the package Mrs. Weasley had picked up for him. He hoped it wasn’t a matching set to Ron’s robes.

 

“The ball is on Christmas night from eight until midnight. You and your date will arrive outside the great hall at seven thirty to prepare for the opening dance.”

 

Harry fought the urge to let his head hit the desk. He desperately wished he didn’t have to ask someone to be his date, and was mortified at the idea of dancing in front of all three schools.

 

“It is a part of the tournament,” she continued, “and as such, you must attend, or I assure you that I would excuse you from the event.”

 

“Thank you, Professor,” replied Harry.

 

“I must finish grading these essays before the end of the night,” she said, casting a tired glance over the mounds of parchment in front of her, “so I must ask that you return to your dormitory. Get some rest, and work on that clue.”

 

“Yes, Professor,” he said automatically as he stood, and walked from the room, his mind mind whirling with thoughts of dates and the large golden egg.

 

XxXxXxXxXxX

 

The next morning saw little improvement for Harry. A few people expressed their relief that he was doing better, but most of the school seemed to have been driven further down the ‘Support Cedric Diggory’ path, led by Malfoy. Harry mostly agreed with the sentiment, thinking that Cedric was the only  _ true _ champion Hogwarts had, but he could do without the anti-Harry sentiment that went along with it.

 

One thing he did appreciate, however, was Ron’s mood. His friend was acting as though nothing had been amiss between them the past few weeks, and Harry found it rather easy to play along. At times he almost forgot what had happened, but not long after he would catch himself worrying about how Ron would react to something he said, or the words he chose, and the illusion was shattered. He hoped someday to return to the level of amiability he had previously enjoyed with Ron, but until then, he couldn’t help but to be a little extra cautious.

 

The three of them had spent the whole morning after breakfast trying to figure out the egg. They had been thrown out of the common room after opening it for the first time. The loud shriek that issued from the open egg caused most people nearby to wince in pain before throwing their hands up to their ears. They had spent the rest of the day out on the grounds, trying to stay warm as they examined the strange egg.

 

Harry’s day took a strange turn after they disbanded after lunch. Harry had asked for some time alone after the frustrating morning. Between a standard, irritating encounter with Malfoy, his still too-tight skin on his left side, and the ringing that hadn’t yet faded from his ears from the egg, Harry was eager for some peace and quiet, away from everybody. He had settled on a stone bench in an empty courtyard, when a plain brown owl landed next to him, a small piece of parchment attached to it’s leg. Harry accepted the small letter, which was adorned with two thin curvy letters, ‘HP’. He opened it, and read the unfamiliar handwriting inside.

 

_ Harry, _

 

_ I apologize for using an owl to contact you, but I could not think of another way to reach you without wandering through Hogwarts hoping to bump into you. I was hoping you’d be able to meet with me this evening. I have some things I would like to discuss with you, and I’d prefer it be done away from listening ears. _

 

_ If you’re interested, please meet me by the stairs to the second floor at eight. I know it sounds strange, but as I mentioned before, I prefer to walk the castle at night. _

 

_ I hope you’re able to meet me, though I would certainly understand if not. This is a rather sudden request. _

 

_ -Fleur _

 

Harry had to read the letter twice to be sure he’d understood what it said. Fleur wanted to meet with him? His golden egg spent the rest of the afternoon ignored, as Harry tried to figure out what she could possibly want. He dropped his egg off in his dorm just before dinner, and made his way alone to the great hall.

 

He was surprised to find neither Hermione nor Ron at the Gryffindor table. Ginny told him, through a few giggles, that Ron was in the hospital wing having apparently been tricked into eating an enlarging candy that caused his nose to grow ten times it’s normal size. No one had heard from Hermione, and Harry suspected she had either opted to skip dinner to keep researching, or forgotten about it completely.

 

Harry’s nerves rose as eight o’clock grew closer. He’d run through a multitude of possible reasons why Fleur would want to talk to him, but none of them seemed likely. He made sure to head towards the second floor staircase a little early, and was surprised to find her already waiting for him.

 

Exchanging nothing more than a quiet ‘hello’, Fleur led him to an unused classroom just down the hall from where they’d met.

 

“Thank you for agreeing to meet me tonight,” Fleur said once they’d closed the classroom door behind them.

 

“Er, no problem,” said Harry, standing awkwardly next to the door. His eyes darted around the room as a traitorous part of his brain reminded him of the things he’d heard couples doing in abandoned classrooms during his late night walks. He hid his burning face by moving towards a desk and taking a seat.

 

“I asked you here for a few reasons,” she began, walking closer to where he was sitting. “Firstly was to see how you were doing.”

 

“I’m fine,” Harry answered automatically, before a memory of Madam Pomfrey made him pause. She had been one of the few people to see how badly he had been burned by the Horntail. He looked up a her from his seat, and saw a surprisingly concerned look upon her face.

 

“I’m glad to hear it,” she said quietly. “Your injuries were severe.”

 

“So I was told,” he replied, shifting his gaze away from her pale face.

 

“I will admit,” Fleur said eventually, breaking a small silence that had settled between them, “that seeing the extent of your injuries served to illustrate the true dangers we face in this competition.”

 

Harry merely nodded, though he felt as though he had taken the tournament seriously from the start. He had been almost sure he was going to be killed when he had heard that the first task was going to be dragons, and he fully recognized that it was a miracle that he had survived at all.

 

“When you were brought into the tent,” continued Fleur, her soft voice quiet, “I didn’t recognize you at first.”

 

Harry watched her as she spoke, unsure of the direction of the conversation. He had been told the extent of his injuries, and was intensely grateful that he couldn’t remember them as he was keen to avoid giving his nightmares any more fuel than they already had. He watched her as she stood up from where she had been leaning, and began to slowly pace the front of the room while gently pulling on a handful of her silvery-blonde hair.

 

“I must admit something to you,” she said, her back to him.

 

“Okay,” Harry said, unsure of what else he might say. He was surprised she wanted to speak with him at all, let alone feel the need to confide anything in him. 

 

“It is a terrible thing to say,” she said, still not facing him, “but the first thing I felt when I saw you in that tent was regret.”

 

Harry remained silent, unsure of what to say. He hadn’t expected her to feel any sort of way about his injuries, and didn’t understand why her regret would be so terrible.

 

“I…” she began, finally turning back towards him, anxiety written plainly on her features. “I suppose I should be honest,” she finished, turning her eyes away from him and down to the floor.

 

Harry sat, completely flabbergasted by the conversation that was taking place. Truthfully, he had hoped for the opportunity to talk to Fleur again after their meeting in the owlery, but he certainly hadn’t expected her to come seek him out. He also hadn’t expected a serious discussion, this strange confession of regret, or her apparent nervousness. 

 

“Do you recall,” she began, her eyes moving from the floor to a nearby window, “when we met in the owlery, and I told you that I had enjoyed our conversation?”

 

“Yes,” Harry replied simply. He recalled the whole conversation in vivid detail. She had been the first person to tell him that they believed he hadn’t put his name in the goblet.

 

“Would it surprise you to know,” she said slowly, her hand unconsciously twirling her hair through her fingers, “that I enjoyed our conversation because it was the first I’ve had with someone outside my family since I was a small girl?”

 

Harry was unsure how to reply to the question, but when he looked at her, he saw her waiting for his response.

 

“Well,” he said finally, “yeah, it would.”

 

Fleur smiled at him, though he thought it seemed a little sad. “I expect many would feel the same,” she said, her sad smile falling as she sighed. “What do you know of Veela?”

 

“Not much,” Harry admitted, hastily thinking back to the things Hermione had said. “My friend said they have an allure or something, and I saw the ones at the world cup transform into big birds.”

 

“That is usually the extent of people’s knowledge of us,” said Fleur, her gaze still locked on the window. “It is the ‘allure’, that I wish to speak of first.”

 

Harry waited while Fleur appeared to gather her thoughts. He had been curious about it ever since he’d heard Hermione mention it, but hadn’t remembered to look into it.

 

“What do you know of the allure,” she asked finally.

 

“Not much,” Harry admitted again. “Ron said it made his mind all fuzzy, and Hermione said it wouldn’t work on her because she’s a girl. She also said it’s rare to resist the allure of a Veela.”

 

“I see,” Fleur said, “again, that is the common knowledge about us. It’s what is usually found when Veela are mentioned in textbooks and literature. It is not wholly inaccurate, just incomplete.”

 

Harry sat in rapt attention. He had wanted to get to know her better, but hadn’t dared hoped that she’d sit down and tell him about herself.

 

“Firstly, the ‘allure’ is not so simple as making a man’s mind go fuzzy with attraction.” She paused, absentmindedly chewing her lip as she thought.

 

To Harry’s surprise, he found her even more attractive when she did so. He wondered if he was indeed immune to her ‘allure’, or whatever it was.

 

“Many people believe the allure is simply magical attraction, captivating the attention of men with lust,” explained Fleur, her hesitant tone gradually shifting to one of a classroom lecturer as she sat down on one of the desks, and crossed her legs. “The word ‘allure’ is actually a misnomer, as it is less related to say, a Siren’s song, than it is to passive legilimency.”

 

“Legilimency?”

 

“The magical art of mind reading,” answered Fleur, shocking Harry. He had no idea it was possible for people to read thoughts. The idea of it made him shudder.

 

“My ability is not so direct,” Fleur said, apparently noticing his disquiet, “but your friend was right about one thing, it is a rarity to be wholly immune to it’s touch.”

 

“I’m immune?” Harry asked, silently grateful that she was unable to probe his thoughts, or whatever is was she could do.

 

“It would seem so,” she replied, flashing him a genuine smile. “But we will get to that. I don’t want you to think I walk around being able to read people’s thoughts and secrets just by being near them.”

 

Harry started guiltily, not so sure she was telling the truth, as she seemed to have the strange ability to voice his thoughts.

 

“Rather than read thoughts as a Legilimens can, my ability probes people’s general emotions, and turns them favorably towards myself. The word ‘allure’ is a misnomer only because the method of it is more complex than a simple lust potion, as many seem to believe it is.

 

“My ability reaches out to those nearby, senses their current emotional state, and shifts it so that I become the focus of their attention. If it is unable to shift their attentions, then they are immune to it.”

 

“So why is it limited to men, if it’s just about emotion?” Harry asked, recalling

Hermione’s explanation in the great hall.

 

Fleur sighed, letting go of the strands of hair she had been playing with. “Because it is true that there is an element of lust inherent in the allure. It does not work on your friend, not because she is a girl, but because she is not homosexual. If she were, her attention would be drawn the same as anyone else. Homosexual men are similarly unaffected.”

 

“I’m not-” Harry began, but was cut off by Fleur raising her hand to forestall him.

 

“I know,” she said simply. “I can feel the allure attempt, and fail, to change their feelings towards me. With you, it simply cannot grab onto you. I cannot feel your emotions the way I feel others. It is not so dissimilar from the way my ability reacts to occlumens, though I doubt you are an accomplished occlumens. Every occlumens I’ve met are far older than we are.”

 

“You can feel their emotions?” Harry asked. “And what’s an occlumens?” He felt as though he might prefer having his emotions read to his mind, but he still didn’t like the idea.

 

“Occlumency is the counter to legilimency, which I mentioned earlier. It is the magical art of locking your mind away from intrusion. As for your other question, it’s not as though I can feel exactly what they’re feeling,” she said, shrugging. “It’s not so much that I get a sense that they’re happy, or sad, but I can tell how their feelings are changed by the allure in order to draw them to me. An angry person’s emotions must be altered differently to those of a happy person’s to achieve the same result. Over the years I have learned to discern the feelings of others based upon the way the allure must affect them.”

 

“Seems…a little overwhelming,” Harry said, trying to imagine what it’d be like to feel someone’s mood all the time.

 

“It can be,” she said, again offering him a smile, “but it’s more like hearing a constant noise all the time. You learn to tune it out.”

 

“But you can’t feel my feelings at all?” asked Harry.

 

“No,” Fleur said, still smiling, “and that’s why I brought it up. To go back to what I was saying before, I felt regret when I saw you enter that tent, because you are the only person I’ve spoken to in years that is unaffected by my abilities. I had hoped to spend more time speaking with you, and I thought I had missed that chance.”

 

Harry was unsure how to reply. A rambunxious part of his mind wanted to whoop out loud. The most beautiful person he had ever seen just said she had wanted to spend more time with him.  _ Him! _

 

Before he could think of a suitable reply, she broke the silence in a quiet voice.

 

“I know,” she said suddenly somber, her eyes down on her shoes, “it’s a terrible and selfish thing to say, but I thought you might…” she trailed off, letting out a small sigh. “I thought you might still let me talk to you...sometimes.”

 

Harry goggled at her. He couldn’t fathom why she might think it a ‘terrible’ or ‘selfish’ thing to say, but he certainly didn’t think it was. He was surprised to see such a tentative side to the woman he’d watched be so aloof and graceful. He heard a small voice in his head remind him that he regularly put up a happy front for the world to see. She must be just as lonely as he was sometimes, though she didn’t even have the benefit of his two best friends.

 

He realized the silence was dragging on, and looked over at Fleur, who was picking at the sleeves of her heavy winter cloak.

 

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, hoping he could cheer her up. “I don’t mind.”

 

“That is a kind thing to say,” she said as she finally looked up at him, “but even asking you here today was a selfish thing to do. I told you those things hoping that you would say something like that, just so I could have someone to talk to. Even seeing if you were okay was self serving. I wanted to see you healed so maybe I can stop seeing….the other you...as I fall asleep.” She swallowed thickly as she looked down again. “I had hoped we could maybe become friends someday, but I thought it was fair you know what kind of person I am.”

 

“It’s really fine,” Harry repeated, feeling far out of his depth. He wanted her to feel better, but he had no idea what to say. He couldn’t even make Hermione feel better when she was upset, and he’d known her for years now.

 

“I don’t think you’re all that bad,” he continued, “not that I think you’re bad at all. Or that I know you better than you know you. Or…” he trailed off, desperately wishing he were better at this sort of thing.

 

Rather than be upset at him like he had expected, she laughed lightly before smiling broadly at him.

 

“You are very earnest,” she said, her blue eyes captivating him. “Thank you Harry.”

 

He couldn’t control the small smile that pulled at his mouth as well. Her minor French accent made it sound as though his name was missing it’s first letter. It felt unaccountably personal, like a nickname. He’d never had a nickname before, or at least not one worthwhile. He shook the thoughts of his family and his unwanted magical moniker from his mind and looked back up at Fleur, who seemed much more relaxed.

 

“I did say there were a few reasons I wanted to talk to you today,” she said after a moment. “I also wanted to give you a hint about the second task and the egg.”

 

“You did?” Harry asked, his eyes widening. He had tried to figure out the egg ever since Professor McGonagall had told him he was behind the other champions, but had so far had no luck.

 

“I also felt terrible that I didn’t warn you of the dragons when I found out they were to be our challenge,” she explained.

 

“I mean, I didn’t tell you either,” Harry mumbled, his face suddenly hot with shame.

 

“That is true,” she replied, “so I suppose we are even.”

 

“I told Cedric though,” Harry said miserably. He was sure he was going to lose this new friend of his before he had gotten a chance to know her.

 

“Which was noble. You were not required to tell anyone, and the fact that you told one person instead of everyone does not diminish that.” She waited until he finally looked up at her before continuing. “I want to be a good friend,” she said bluntly, catching Harry by surprise, “and a good friend would help you through this ordeal which you did not ask for.”

 

“Thank you,” Harry said thickly.

 

“Next time you are able, put your egg underwater,” Fleur said in reply. “It’ll make that dreadful noise useful.”

 

Harry nodded. Hopefully the tournament would be a little less dangerous with an actual champion helping him out.

 

“So how are your injuries feeling?” Fleur asked conversationally.

 

“Just fine actually,” Harry replied, looking down at his left hand. As the days went on, it was beginning to look more and more like his regular hand. “Even just after waking up it didn’t hurt, it only felt a little strange.”

 

“I’m glad,” Fleur said. “Though I don’t expect you’ll need to worry about fire much during the second task,” she added with a grimace.

 

“You know what it is?” Harry asked in surprise. He’d assumed she was still working it out if the only clue she gave him was to put the egg underwater.

 

“I believe so,” Fleur answered with a nod, “but it is against the rules for me to tell you exactly what the task is, even though hints are acceptable.”

 

“How does the magic even know?” Harry asked frustratedly. The tournament rules felt like shackles on him, but he couldn't fathom how this ‘binding contract’ with the goblet was so all-knowing.

 

“I wish I knew,” replied Fleur. “It is fascinating though, is it not? Such ancient enchantments that are so meticulous and well placed that they continue to work centuries later, and have such far reaching detective capabilities. The goblet is an impressive magical artifact, don’t you think?”

 

“I suppose so,” Harry agreed, more keen on avoiding a conflict of opinion with his new friend, than voicing his true thoughts on the goblet. “You might talk with my friend Hermione though, she’s probably been trying to figure out how it works for fun.”

 

He watched as Fleur went from her excited interest about the magic surrounding the Goblet of Fire to almost noticeably withdrawing into herself.

 

“I don't usually get along well with other women,” Fleur said quietly. “they find me threatening, or become jealous of my appearance.” She waved her hand irritably around in the air, gesturing to her face.

 

“Sorry,” Harry replied immediately. “It just seemed like something she’d be interested in. I don't think she dislikes you or anything,” he added after a moment, “the most she’s said about you is telling Ron that it’s unlikely that you’re Veela.”

 

“I suppose,” Fleur said after a moment, “that I could try meeting her eventually.” She gave Harry a shy smile that made his heart race. “I’m not very good at meeting people,” she admitted, “for real, that is.”

 

“For real?” Harry echoed, confused.

 

“Sometimes it’s easier for me to smile, nod, and ‘be pretty’ like people expect me to, rather than to try and be genuine with them.” She laughed a humorless laugh before continuing. “But I already grow tired of acting, though I will need to do more of it now that my Father works within Britain’s Ministry.” She looked up at Harry again. “Again, I think you understand this as well.”

 

Harry nodded, thinking back to the world cup where he saw Fleur put on a smile for the Minister, the same way he had to for those who wanted to meet the Boy-Who-Lived, instead of Harry Potter.

 

“Regarding that, er, somewhat,” Fleur continued, her fluent speech stuttering for the first time since he’d met her. He looked at her, and saw that she was again feeling extremely apprehensive. He felt like he was pretty good at judging people’s moods from their faces, he had to be in order to survive his Aunt and Uncle, but most people tended to try and hide their feelings while they were talking, whereas Fleur seemed to be an open book to him. He found the change refreshing, especially after Ron’s recent two-facedness.

 

“One of the other things I asked you here for was about…” she trailed off, again beginning to run the end of her long silver hair through her fingers. He watched as she purposefully put her hands down on her knees, and took a deep breath. “I wished to ask you to come with me to the Ball.”

 

Harry was certain he was dreaming. He had thought himself lucky to survive the dragon’s fire, to have Ron back, and to have been asked to talk with Fleur. Maybe that was just it. Maybe he’d died in the first task, and the afterlife was some sort of place where your wishes were granted. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts to give a proper answer.

 

“You won’t?” she asked, surprise mixing with a trace of hurt in her voice.

 

“What? No!” Harry stammered out, watching as her beautiful face fell.

 

“I mean yes,” he explained quickly, hating that he continually had trouble voicing his thoughts properly. “Of course I’ll go with you, if you really want to.” 

 

She smiled again, relief painting her features.

 

“Thank you,” she said, her eyes moving from him down to the floor in apparent embarrassment. “I’ve never been rejected before. It was surprising to hear, even if it wasn’t what you’d meant.” She paused, and Harry watched as the fair skin of her face turned pink. “That sounded egotistic,” she said quickly, “but I didn’t mean it like that. It’s my ability, men usually can’t say no to me.”

 

She grabbed a handful of her hair as her blush deepened.

 

“That didn’t sound any better,” her usually clear voice becoming more of a mumble.

 

“Why me?” Harry asked quickly, hoping to distract her from her worries. Surely he wasn’t her first choice.

 

His question seemed to have the effect he’d hoped, and she seemed to calm a little before answering.

 

“It’s as I said before, I haven’t had a proper conversation with someone close to my age since I was young, and I don’t want to have to play the part of ‘serene date’ to someone who is ensnared by my abilities all night.”

 

Harry nodded, feeling oddly disappointed by her answer. He was surprised to find that he had hoped that she had wanted to take him because she was interested in him, rather than just because she was someone she could talk to for the night. He did his best to repress the feeling. It wasn’t as though he didn’t understand being lonely, and he  _ did _ enjoy talking to her, though he still didn’t feel as though he was contributing much. Besides, he couldn’t think of a single reason someone like her would be interested in a short, skinny, useless fourteen year old. He quelled his feelings of disappointment, and tried to think practically. Now he didn’t have to go through the mortifying process of asking someone to the ball.

 

“I’m sorry for ambushing you will all this,” Fleur said after a moment, waving her hand vaguely in the air. “I was so excited to have someone to talk to, and was so afraid that you wouldn’t want to speak with me again.” Her face turned rosey again as she finished. “I’m also not very good at moderating what I say...apparently,” she added, a bit of irritation in her voice.

 

“It’s….refreshing,” Harry heard himself say. He had been thinking it since he realized he could easily tell what she was feeling from her expressions, but was surprised to her himself say the words. Between Ron, who, even though they’d reconciled, he still felt some distrust towards, and everyone else in the school flipping their opinions of him from one year to the next, it was nice to know someone beside Hermione who was honest with him.

 

“I expect you run into people wearing polite masks quite often, don’t you?” Fleur asked.

 

Harry almost started with surprise as she put words to his thoughts yet again.

 

“Are you sure you can’t read my mind, or feelings?” he asked suspiciously.

 

“Yes,” she said, a small frown appearing on her lips. “Why do you ask?”

 

“You keep saying what I’m thinking,” he answered, feeling a little foolish.

 

“I think it’s because we have a lot in common when it comes to how people view us,” she said, after considering his reply for a moment. “It’s easy for me to understand how you feel being put in the spotlight for something that was out of your control.” 

 

“I promise I cannot tell what you are feeling. Not being able to do so is a little scary, almost like I’ve lost my hearing, but as you said,” she paused, brushing wayward strands of hair behind her ear, and giving him another small smile, “it is also refreshing.”

 

Harry was struck by a sudden intense feeling of fondness for Fleur. Despite feeling like he hadn’t contributed much to their conversations, he almost felt more comfortable with her than he did with Hermione. He felt almost constantly on guard with his extremely intelligent friend, trying to make sure that he didn’t slip up in some way to reveal the hidden depths of his life that he was afraid she was already suspecting. He felt a great sense of relief to have someone who hadn’t the faintest inkling of his secrets, and the feeling was freeing. It was as free as he was sure he’d ever feel from the spectre of his relatives, and he resolved to keep it that way. Desperate to keep the newfound lightheartedness alive, he felt the desire to be uncharacteristically conversational. Maybe if he tried it out, it’d become easier to talk to her in the future.

 

“So what’s Beauxbatons like?” Harry asked, his voice cracking slightly from nerves. He winced inwardly, and hoped Fleur didn’t notice.

 

If she did, she didn’t show it, and her face lit up at his question.

 

“It is beautiful,” she said, her eyes unfocused in reminiscence. “It is not that Hogwarts is not beautiful in it’s own way, but Beauxbatons has a warmth that Hogwarts does not.” She smiled as she spoke, “and I’m not only speaking of the weather. It is difficult to describe the difference, as they’re both large castles in the middle of beautiful fields, though Beauxbatons has more open fields where Hogwarts has it’s forest. Perhaps you’ll get the opportunity to visit it one day.”

 

Harry listened as Fleur described the interior of castle, including, to Harry’s surprise, as fountain named after Nicolas Flamel and his wife. He considered mentioning his adventure with the stone in his first year, but figured they’d get to it eventually if they remained friends, and he was enjoying just listening to her speak.

 

The evening deepend into night as they spoke, with Harry asking primarily about her time at school, while attempting to avoid asking of her family, lest she reciprocate the questions. Harry was surprised to find out how much time had passed when Fleur finally brought their conversation to a close.

 

“We will have to continue some other time,” Fleur said, glancing out the window where the moonlight shone bright onto the grounds.

 

Harry reluctantly agreed, though he could feel the tiredness settling in once she had pointed out how late it had become.

 

Fleur turned to him when they had returned to the deserted hallway outside the classroom, about to go their separate ways for the evening.

 

“I will talk to you later?” Fleur said, though her tone was more a tentative question than a statement.

 

“Yeah,” Harry replied, silently wishing they had begun their conversation earlier so they wouldn’t have to stop just then.

 

Fleur flashed him another nearly luminescent smile at his answer, and nodded. “At least once more before the ball?”

 

“Just let me know,” Harry replied, offering her a small smile in return.

 

Fleur waved goodbye as she set off down the hall, back towards the entrance to the castle. Harry pulled out the Marauder’s Map once she turned the corner, and headed back towards Gryffindor tower.

 

XxXxXxXxXxX

 

“Where have you  _ been _ ?” Hermione asked from her seat by a dying fire, when he slipped through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room.

 

“Ron went up to bed an hour ago,” she continued, not pausing for an answer to her initial question. “I would have gone too, but ever since the dragon,” she paused to smile apologetically up at him as he approached the large chairs by the fire. “I’m sorry Harry, I can’t help but worry.”

 

“It’s okay Hermione,” Harry replied, lowering himself into one of the chairs. He was glad that Hermione was alone. He had spent the trip back to Gryffindor tower trying to figure out how to explain his new friendship to Fleur without eliciting any jealous comments from Ron, or teasing from Hermione. He figured he could handle the small, light spirited jabs that Hermione liked to poke him with, rather than any comments from Ron. He was glad to be speaking to his friend again, but although he had been trying over the last few days, he had been unable to shake the distrust that had settled in him regarding Ron.

 

“I was out talking to Fleur,” Harry said quickly, resigning himself to whatever Hermione would say.

 

“Oh?” she replied simply, her eyebrows disappearing behind her bushy fringe in surprise. “About the tournament? This late?”

 

“A little, yeah,” Harry answered. “She gave me a hint about how to figure out the clue for the second task.”

 

“You’re competitors though,” said Hermione, “Why would she want to help you?”

 

“She wants to help me get through the tournament,” he explained, “she thinks it’s unfair that I got entered, and am being forced to compete.”

 

“Well she’s right, obviously, but why did it take hours for her to give you a hint?”

 

“That wasn’t all we talked about,” Harry answered, “she wants to be friends.”

 

“With you? Why?” Hermione asked, shocked.

 

Harry frowned, and was about to retort, when she spoke again.

 

“I’m sorry Harry, that was a dreadful thing to say,” she said apologetically. “It’s just surprising that an older student, from another country, and one who is an opposing champion no less, would simply approach you and ask to be friends. It seems a little suspicious to me.”

 

Harry desperately wanted to disagree, but couldn’t really find fault in her logic, despite the fact the he still felt that Fleur was being genuine during their time together.

 

“She said it’s because she doesn’t really have anyone else to talk to, since she’s Veela,” Harry explained, trying not to feel too guilty for divulging the personal information.

 

“So she  _ is _ Veela,” Hermione all but whispered. “That does explain Ron’s behaviour around her.” She suddenly looked chagrined. “I suppose I owe him an apology.” She seemed to remember something, and turned back to Harry. “But that means that you  _ are _ immune to the Veela allure.”

 

“Seems so,” replied Harry with a shrug.

 

“I wonder...” Hermione began, but was interrupted by a large yawn. “I had better get to bed,” she said instead, rising from her seat. “Oh!” she said just before reaching the stairs to the girls dormitory.  “What was the hint she gave you?”

 

“To put the egg underwater. She said it’ll get rid of that awful screeching sound.”

 

“Try it tomorrow and let me know what happens,” she said, before ascending the stairs out of sight.

 

Harry followed suit, tiredly making his way up the boy’s stairs. He tried to sort the jumbled feelings he had about the night. His newfound warmth toward Fleur was warring with Hermione’s logical points. Why  _ would _ someone as beautiful and talented as Fleur want him as a friend. No sooner did he have the thought, than he remembered her open expressions and smiles throughout their conversation. He had always been good about telling when people were putting on a show for him, and he didn’t think Fleur was doing anything of the sort.

 

He climbed quietly into bed, taking care not to wake the others. He fell into a restless sleep, and dreamt of strangers wearing masks.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry pulled the final layer of his dress robes over his head, briefly muffling Ron's muttered curses. Ron was slowly turning back and forth in front of a large mirror that they had been given. Ron’s back was to Harry, but Harry could see the sour expression on his friend’s reflection.

 

“Ruddy hell,” Ron muttered again, as he tried in vain to force the large frills to lay flat.

 

Harry slowly slid out of the room once finished, absentmindedly pulling at the dark green bow-tie that had tied itself around his neck once he’d put his shirt on. He slowly descended the steps down from the boys dorm, taking care not to let the unfamiliar robes slide underfoot. As he rounded the corner into the common room, he stopped suddenly short as he came face to face with the entirety of the underclasses. As soon as he’d rounded the corner, whispers has broken out among the younger students.

 

He awkwardly resumed walking, taking a seat in a chair next to the fire, and tried to tune out the gossip nearby, while also trying to avoid thinking about his upcoming dance with Fleur. The short lesson she had given him in their second meeting a few days previous hadn’t served to bolster his confidence much at all. She was mercifully patient with him as he trod on her feet, and gently coached him through the steps of a basic waltz.

 

The thought of dancing with her didn’t bother him too greatly. He’d sort of enjoyed the end of their lesson, when he could let himself lose focus, and only pay attention to the steps and the beat. What did bother him tremendously, however, was the massive amount of people that would be watching his second dance ever.

 

Harry glanced up every time another dressed up student came down the stairs, hoping to see either Ron or Hermione. Fred and George offered him a simultaneous wink as they passed him a few minutes later before ducking out of the portrait hole to meet their dates.

 

Some of Harry’s anxiety was lessened a few minutes later when Hermione came down the stairs to a renewed burst of whispering from the students lining the common room. Even from where he was sitting, he could see Hermione’s blush travel across her face and down her neck as she tried to ignore the whispered comments of surprise.

 

Harry did his best not to stare as Hermione took a seat across from him. It was clear she had put significant time and effort into her appearance for the ball, and to great effect. He was most impressed by her hair, which had been tamed down from it’s usual unruly nature to a sleek loose bun. She pulled her dress to the back of her legs as she sat down, trying for several moments to get comfortable, before settling gingerly on the edge of the seat.

 

“So…” Hermione said, her voice slightly higher than usual.

 

“So,” Harry replied, taking an odd solace in seeing his friend as nervous as he felt.

 

“Ron and Neville aren’t down yet?” Hermione asked, her voice slightly more controlled.

 

“I think Ron is still deciding whether or not he wants to be seen in those robes,” Harry explained, “and I think Neville is more nervous than I am.”

 

“I hope Neville doesn’t think I look silly,” Hermione fretted, absentmindedly smoothing the front of her dress.

 

“He was so excited that you said yes, that he probably wouldn’t mind if you showed up in a potato sack,” Harry said, laughing a little at the look of horror that bloomed on Hermione’s face as she imagined such a scenario.

 

“I’m just glad someone invited me,” Hermione said quietly, seemingly more to herself than to Harry. Before he could reply, she spoke again. “Not all of us can have a date fall into our laps like you can, Harry.”

 

Harry was about to retort with the same line he gave Ron whenever his friend lamented Harry’s luck, but stopped short when he saw the small, smug smile pulling at the edges of Hermione’s lips. Harry settled for rolling his eyes instead of responding.

 

They waited in silence for a few more minutes before Ron and Neville finally made an appearance. Both seemed extremely apprehensive, though Neville’s dress robes seemed perfectly normal, especially compared to Ron’s.

 

“You both look nice,” Hermione said diplomatically as they approached. Ron let out a grunt, while Neville simply blushed.

 

They stood awkwardly for a few moments, before Hermione spoke again.

 

“We had better get moving,” she said, her voice once again uncharacteristically high.

 

XxXxXxXxXxX

 

The four of them walked in relative silence down toward the great hall, each apparently wrapped up in their own apprehensions. For Harry’s part, he couldn’t decide how he felt about the situation. He couldn’t figure out whether he was afraid to be dancing in front of everyone, or excited to be dancing with Fleur again. His stomach lurched as they turned a corner, and a steady roar of conversation came into earshot as they got to the great hall.

 

With his nerves kicking into high gear, Harry had trouble appreciating the colorfully decorated entrance to the great hall. Massive green and red streamers that floated lazily through the air, gradually morphing from one christmas animal to another. An amused laugh rolled out from the crowd as small pieces of confetti that had fallen gradually rose back up into the air, only to rain down upon the students again.

 

Harry tried to calm himself as he heard Hermione gasp in surprise at the decorations.

 

“T-that's pretty cool,” Neville said, as a pair of ribbons morphed into a large christmas tree. Ron grunted a reply, though his face had relaxed considerably while taking in the impressive display.

 

Harry looked out at the assembled crowd. Most everybody else seemed to be having fun chatting and showing off their dress-robes to each other. He found some solace in the fact that he saw others that were lingering on the fringes, seemingly as uncomfortable as he was feeling. He was saved having to wander the mass of people looking for Fleur by the distinctive voice of Professor McGonagall, who was calling his name.

 

“Mr. Potter!” she called, her voice easily heard above the din. “This way please. Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger, Mr. Longbottom, please wait in the hall here until the doors are opened.”

 

Harry waved goodbye to his friends as he was led Harry around the periphery of the crowd, and around a corner, much to Harry’s relief. His sigh of relief caught in his throat as he took in the scene before him.

 

Cedric stood next to Cho Chang, both wearing mostly black robes with complementary golden accents. Cho’s long, dark hair was braided loosely together behind her, small golden baubles woven in throughout. Further down the hall, Krum was leaning against the wall, his face the definition of indifference above a set of fine blood red dress robes. Next to him, wearing a dark red dress was an attractive dark haired girl from Durmstrang that Harry had not seen before. Neither champions dress and demeanor were a surprise to Harry though, and it was Fleur that had ground him to an unwitting halt.

 

Her dress was of a silver-gray satin that matched her hair in a way that seemed to make her luminescent. The dress was not immodest, though it clung lightly to her figure, and had a band of lace that wrapped up her left shoulder, and around the back. Harry shifted unconsciously as he began to feel strangely overdressed in his triple layered robes. It wasn’t her dress that caught his attention, but the small, nervous smile she’d greeted him with as soon as he had rounded the corner with Professor McGonagall. He felt spellbound by the sight of her, and couldn’t seem to breath, let alone speak.

 

Once Professor McGonagall had left, Fleur walked quickly over to Harry, who hadn’t moved from where he’d frozen.

 

“Well, we don’t really match,” Fleur said in greeting, her eyes taking in Harry’s robes, then flicking over to the other two groups.

 

“Er,” Harry managed, his eyes following her lead, and looking again at the other champions and their dates.

 

She turned back to him, and began to look critically at Harry’s robes. After a few minutes of close inspection, she produced her wand from behind her, and waved it slowly over herself. As she did so, the silver-gray color gradually transfigured to a deep green that matched the accents in Harry’s outfit.

 

“Very impressive,” Professor McGonagall said appreciatively as she returned from a now quiet corridor. “The control required for a gradual shift like that is not easily attained. Well done.”

 

“Thank you,” Fleur said genuinely, a small expression of appreciative surprise crossing her features. She looked down at her dress, and then back over to Harry’s robes. “That’s better, though the color doesn’t match my hair anymore.”

 

“It’s...good,” Harry managed to get out, before immediately wishing he’d kept his mouth shut, rather than say something so lame.

 

Fleur laughed gently, misreading him for the first time.

 

“Don’t worry about being in front of everyone. It’s just for one dance, and then we can relax for the rest of the ball. I have no desire to be on display in front of all those people any more than you do.”

 

Harry nodded woodenly, suddenly remembering that he was about to dance in front of three different schools. He tried to force the feeling down. He did enjoy the idea of dancing with Fleur, and if he could face a dragon, he could dance a single dance.

 

“It’s not like we’re facing dragons again,” Fleur whispered conspiratorially as Professor McGonagall motioned the group to follow her. She frowned a little in surprise when Harry’s head whipped over to face her.

 

“Would you quit reading my mind?” Harry whispered back, a mixture of teasing and indignation in his voice.

 

Fleur shrugged and smiled. “It’s just what I’ve been telling myself every time I get nervous. Helps put things in perspective. I’ve told you I can’t read minds.”

 

“I’m not so sure,” Harry mumbled, his tone deliberately light and teasing. Through the course of their few conversations, he’d learned that Fleur could be sensitive with the topic of her abilities and heritage, a trait with which he could certainly identify.

 

“Champions,” Professor McGonagall announced, her voice taking on an official tone as they reached the closed doors to the Great Hall, “it’s time. Please line up, and follow me.”

 

Harry looked over to Cedric, who offered him a nervous smile as he walked towards Professor McGonagall. Krum fell in step behind Cedric, leaving Harry and Fleur to the front of the line. Harry swallowed audibly, and he heard Fleur take a deep breath, and let it out slowly. He stole a glance over at her to see her small, polite smile resting on her features. He recognized the facade, and for the first time, he wished that he were able to hide behind The-Boy-Who-Lived like she could hide behind that smile.

 

With a wave of her wand, Professor McGonagall opened the massive doors in front of them, revealing a multitude of expectant faces. The sight pushed Harry’s heart into his throat, and he had difficulty remembering how to breath. The band inside the hall began to play a slow procession, and Professor McGonagall began to walk slowly forward, motioning for them to follow.

 

Harry missed the introduction of the champions, since he felt like all he could see was the expectant gazes of his fellow students, and all he could hear was his own heart. He didn’t even know it was time to begin the dance until Fleur grabbed his hand, shocking him back into the moment.

 

“Ready?” she whispered, raising the hand she’d grasped, and placing her other on his shoulder.

 

Harry placed his hand on her waist, and nodded.

 

The band began moments later, and Fleur began counting under her breath, much to Harry’s relief. Her steady whisper helped keep him focused on his feet, and his partner, rather than on the eyes watching them, or his hand on her waist, which had proved a significant distraction during their practice session, though he wisely kept that to himself. He could smell the faint cinnamon scent that he had first noticed at the feast, the first time she had spoken to him. He tried to clear his mind, and focus on her words as he narrowly avoided trodding on her toes.

 

He chastised himself for letting his attention waver, and redoubled his efforts to keep time and stay focused. Before long it seemed as though the entire room were melting away. He felt his eyes unfocus from Fleur’s face as they moved, more of his attention focusing on his movement and Fleur’s voice. The only thing he felt like he could see were flashes of her long silvery hair, and the deep blue of eyes looking into his. A soft, distant part of his mind noted that it was a little strange that he didn’t feel the compulsion to look away from her gaze, and felt comfortable locking his green eyes with hers. He felt much of the tension he’d been feeling leave, as he moved across the dance floor with Fleur.

 

His strange, trance-like state was broken when he saw Fleur’s eyes widen, and her whispered count falter. His eyes snapped back into focus, noting the surprise in her face. He mentally chastised himself for not paying attention, hoping that he hadn’t stepped too hard on her foot while he hadn’t been paying attention. He focused harder on his steps, picking up the count where she had left off.

 

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

 

Fleur felt her body moving automatically along with Harry’s as he quietly took over counting the steps after she had trailed off. Her body followed along automatically as she tried to figure out what had just happened.

 

As soon as they had entered the great hall, she felt the other students around her in the background of her mind. She could feel her abilities searching them out, and in many cases, latching on to them. She felt their sense shift as their attention was drawn to her. She felt the gentle pushes of her ability as it shifted the happier attendees, and she felt the less subtle direction as it shifted the surlier participants. As she usually did, she had been ignoring the information her ability was presenting her while they danced, until something grabbed her attention so firmly that she momentarily forgot what she was doing.

 

For the first time since she saw him at the world cup many months before, she could feel Harry. She could suddenly tell that he was focused, with a small degree of nervousness still present within his mind. In that moment, she had felt her ability push away his nervousness, and shift that focus away from his steps, and toward herself.

 

Or rather, she felt it try.

 

If she hadn’t already been stunned by the fact that she could suddenly feel Harry’s emotions, she was further shocked to find that his focus and attention refused to yield to her.

 

Before should ponder it for longer than a few seconds, Harry seemed to notice her surprise, and her sense of him vanished, like a flame being snuffed out. She danced along in a daze after that, automatically following Harry’s lead as they gently spun around the room. She studied the enigma in front of her as they moved, wondering just what it was about him that made him resistant to her Veela heritage, or mostly resistant anyway.

 

She’d never encountered someone like Harry before, but perhaps her mother had. Fleur had only a handful of years experience with her abilities in full bloom, whereas her mother had far more experience as a full grown Veela.

 

Fleur was jerked out of her thoughts when Harry suddenly stopped. She noticed the music had stopped as well. She let out a sigh of relief that was shared by Harry. Their requirement for the ball was complete.

 

XxXxXxXxX

 

Harry echoed Fleur’s small sigh of relief when the song finally ended. Another obligation to the tournament was fulfilled, and he could finally step out of the center of attention for the night. He looked back up into Fleur’s eyes, and was offered a slightly wan smile in return. He could tell that her mind was elsewhere, and figured she too was thinking about being away from the stares of the other students.

 

Fleur motioned for him to follow her, and led them quickly to the edge of the dancefloor, weaving their way past students who were eagerly moving in to dance with their dates. Harry waved to Hermione as they passed by. She was pulling a slightly mortified Neville behind her, who’s eyes glazed as they passed, and followed Fleur as she walked by. Hermione smiled back at Harry, not noticing Neville’s reaction as Harry and Fleur exited the dance floor.

 

“You can stay with your friends if you’d like,” Fleur said, noticing his exchange. “We only had to do the first dance together.”

 

“Hermione is dancing,” Harry replied, “and probably will be for a while. She was really excited about her first proper school dance.” He looked around quickly, looking for a mop of red hair in the glassy gazes of the people around them. “I’m not even sure if Ron is still here,” he said, turning back to Fleur. “It wasn’t as bad as I’d expected,” he admitted, “but I’d prefer not to be around so many people if I can help it. I’m perfectly happy leaving if you are.” 

 

He paused after speaking, and tried to backtrack, “That is, if you want me to come with you. If you want to be alone, I don’t mind. Not that you’d need my...” He trailed off as Fleur smiled warmly at him.

 

“I’ve spent plenty of time alone Harry,” she answered, giving him pleasant chills as her accent ran across his name. “You would be welcome.”

  
  


XxXxXxXxXxXxX

 

They passed through the great hall doors alongside Viktor Krum, who was no longer accompanied by his date. He said nothing as he broke away from Harry and Fleur, following the path back to the giant ship where the Durmstrang students resided.

 

They had to search the grounds for a time to find a secluded area that wasn’t already occupied by amorous couples. Both Harry and Fleur’s faces were red with both embarrassment and chill by the time they found a place to sit. The alcove they found had a small bench sitting inside, with enough space for two to sit comfortably, and the walls offered a welcome shelter from the crisp winter wind, and slight snow that had begun to fall. 

 

They sat down, Fleur taking care to move her dress out of the way as she sat. As they had exited the castle, Harry had offered Fleur his large black over robe. Though his face was cold, he was still sweating under all the layers of his dress robes, whereas Fleur’s attractive, but relatively sheer dress did little to keep her warm. She pulled the large robe tightly around her as they sat as a chilly wind blew.

 

They sat in silence for a time, watching as a couple wandered by, searching for their own secluded space. Harry felt his face flush again at the memory of passing the occupied couples in their search for a place to sit, and felt a desperate need to break the silence.

 

“Well,” he said, hoping his voice sounded normal, “that wasn’t quite as bad as I had expected.”

 

“No,” Fleur replied pensively, “it wasn’t.”

 

Harry could tell she was preoccupied, and wasn’t sure how to keep the conversation going, though he wished he did. 

 

XxXxXxXxXxX

 

Fleur chastised herself for letting Harry's attempt at conversation fall flat, but she just couldn’t get what had happened out of her mind. 

 

“Sorry if I stepped on your foot in there,” Harry tried again.

 

She turned her head and smiled at him. She had noticed in their time together that he didn’t often initiate conversations, and didn't want his efforts to go unreciprocated. 

 

“You didn’t,” she reassured him, “not even once.”

 

She saw the slight surprise in his eyes as she spoke. It’d hadn’t been until close to the end of their dancing lesson that she had finally begun to be able to get an idea of how he was feeling. He seemed to keep his feelings close to his chest for the most part, a trait she assumed he picked up from his unwanted fame and scrutiny. She could certainly understand how it was easier to be who people expected you to be if you didn’t show them much of yourself. She had discovered that the trick to figuring him out had been in his eyes. Whatever he was feeling tended to register there just before he got it under control. This was made more difficult by the fact that he didn’t usually keep eye contact with her. She hadn’t yet figured out that particular habit of his. She privately noted the irony of investing so much effort into figuring out how he was feeling, when it had been exactly that which had initially drawn then together.

 

She shook away the thoughts, feeling her long hair brush against the sides of her face. She reached up and slid the stray strands behind her ear.

 

“I was just surprised by something,” she reassured him, “it wasn’t anything you did.”

 

She smiled at him in what she hoped was a reassuring way, but frowned inwardly. Why was she keeping what happened a secret from him? She’d been surprisingly honest with him in the short time they’d known each other. She didn’t know why, but for some reason she felt like it’d drive a wedge between them, and that was the last thing she wanted. It was clear he had a hard time opening up to people, and had been surprisingly anxious when they'd been discussing her ability to ‘read’ emotions. She didn’t want him worrying that she was able to feel him like she could the others around her.

 

“I had a good time too,” she said, smiling with what she felt was a far more genuine smile. “I’d have never expected to be able to enjoy myself with a date to a ball like that. Thank you for coming with me Harry.”

 

He gave her a small smile, one she could tell was genuine.

 

“I should be the one saying thanks,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “I wasn’t looking forward to asking someone to the ball.”

 

“Surely it wouldn’t be difficult for you to find someone to go with,” Fleur replied, making an effort to engage in the conversation.

 

“People want to go with The-Boy-Who-Lived, not with me,” he answered quietly.

 

“Ah,” Fleur said simply. She could certainly understand why he wouldn't be interested in such a date.

 

Fleur eyed Harry from the corner of her eye, and found him looking seriously out into the snowy night, his chin resting on clasped hands, his elbows sitting on his knees.

 

“You seem to like dancing,” she observed, watching him start a little at her voice.

 

“It’s not as bad as I thought it'd be,” he said, smiling a little. “It’s sort of nice to get lost in the rhythm.”

 

Fleur nodded, a partial idea beginning to take shape.

 

“Once more?” Fleur asked, rising from the stone bench.

 

Harry looked at her in surprise as she drew her wand.

 

‘ _ Melodiam Stabilis _ ’

 

As she finished the third wave of her wand, the whistle of the wind seemed to shift into a gentle song. She stood, and offered her hand to Harry, who accepted it in wide-eyed surprise.

 

They spun gently in the courtyard to the soft hum of the wind, the light snow swirling around them as they spun.  Fleur ignored the way the cloak billowed out behind her, exposing her legs and torso to the cold winter air. Her senses were focused completely on Harry, who was silently mouthing the beat as he led her around the courtyard.

 

It seemed like only moments later when the song from the wind faded. Fleur stifled a small sigh of disappointment. She had been so preoccupied by trying to sense Harry again, that she felt as though she had completely missed their dance together. She looked down at Harry, who gave her a smile as he stepped back, releasing her hand and waist as he did so. The place where his hand had been felt intensely cold as the heat from his hand dissipated, and she pulled his cloak around her in response.

 

“Thank you Harry,” she said, turning to walk back towards the front of the castle. She hoped he’d enjoyed their last dance, even though she’d been too mentally preoccupied to do so herself. From the corner of her eye, she saw Harry follow suit, rubbing his hands together against the cold as he walked. Fleur pulled her wand from its place within the lace of her dress, and cast a quick warming charm on herself, blaming her distracted state for not having thought of it sooner. She slipped his cloak off her shoulders, and offered it back to him, smiling at the surprise on his face.

 

“Warming charms are a must-learn, trust me,” she said, as he reached out and took the offered cloak.

 

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

 

Harry fastened the cloak around his shoulders, and pulled it closed around himself, noting with surprise that the inside was far warmer than he’d expected. Perhaps it was a residual effect of Fleur’s warming charm. Whatever it was, he quite enjoyed it. Years of trying to sleep in a drafty cupboard or a large bedroom with one single sheet, had made him appreciate the warmth of heavy blankets and sweaters whenever he got the opportunity, while, paradoxically,  making him more resistant to cold than his friends, and more prone to overheating.

 

He tried to discreetly look over at Fleur as they walked back to the front of the castle, and could see her face clearly lit, her silvery hair made luminescent by the moonlight. The sight of her almost made his breath catch in his chest, but he suddenly noticed the preoccupied expression once again on her face. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told her he’d had a better time than he’d expected. He’d actually quite enjoyed the evening with her, he just hoped she’d enjoyed herself, even a little. He could tell she was distracted with something, and had been since whatever had surprised her in the great hall. He stopped beside her when she stopped in front of the large entrance doors to the castle. He blinked away a few snowflakes that had begun to land on his lashes as he looked up at her.

 

“I think I’m going back to the carriages now Harry,” Fleur said, an odd expression of regret and determination apparent in her features and tone. “Thank you for a wonderful evening. When we were told of the ball, I had fully expected to have to suffer through the evening. I’m glad I was wrong.”

 

“Me too,” Harry replied simply, still slightly dumbstruck by her appearance in the snowy moonlight. He could see the small snowflakes melting as they hit her hair and face, and watched as one landed on the red lipstick of her lips. He swallowed thickly, and forced his eyes up to her forehead, a trick he’d learned to simulate eye contact that didn’t make him quite as anxious.

 

“ Bonne soirée, Harry,” she said, clearly lost in thought as she turned, and began walking towards the oversized Beauxbaton carriages.

 

Harry watched her go, rooted to the spot as he tried to figure out what had been bothering her. He didn’t think it’d been anything he’d done, but he desperately hoped it didn’t mean she was getting bored of spending time with him. A sharp wind snapped him quickly out of his thoughts, causing him to shiver, even through his warm cloak. He glanced one last time at Fleur's retreating form, before turning and beginning the walk back to Gryffindor tower.

  
  


XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

 

_ Mother, _

 

_ Something I’ve never experienced before happened this evening at the Yule Ball, and I wanted to know if you had ever encountered anything like it. _

 

_ During the champions dance with Harry, I suddenly was able to sense him. Not only that, but while I could sense him, he was still unaffected! The feeling went away as soon as he noticed my surprise, and didn't return. _

 

_ Any ideas? _

 

_ Love, _

_ Fleur _

 

Apolline Delacour set her daughters letter atop her folded clothes, and sat gingerly on the large bed next to them. Every letter Fleur had sent for the past couple months had included at least one part about Harry Potter. Appoline wasn’t surprised in the least by her daughter’s excitement at finding a peer that was unaffected by her Veela traits.

Her brow furrowed as she considered her daughter’s letter. Appoline had certainly encountered a handful of people who had been immune to her ability throughout her life, but most had been Occlumens like her husband, Sebastian. Occlumens could certainly push away her ability, but it was unlikely that Harry was a master Occlumens at such a young age. 

 

She drew her long hair through her fingers as she thought, trying to think of any other explanations. There was always the possibility that something had happened that fateful night to poor Harry, but also…

 

Appoline frowned as she read Fleur’s letter once more. She had come across one other instance of an immunity, and she desperately hoped that Harry wasn’t in the same position as Sebastian's old Beauxbatons roommate had been. Nolan had been mistreated for the majority of his life, suffering under the abusive hand of his father. She had been surprised to find the unusually timid man immune to her when they first met, back when she and Sebastian had just begun dating. It wasn’t until many years later, after Nolan had taken his own life, that Sebastian had explained why Nolan had been so extremely guarded in his dealings with other people.

 

She let a small sigh escape as she crossed the room, taking a seat at the small writing desk that sat beneath a large window. Pulling a quill and parchment, she mulled over what to say to her  over-eager daughter.

 

_ Fleur, _

 

_ In your other letters you at least  _ pretended _ to care how Gabrielle and I were doing before you told us about Harry, now not even a pretense? I’m joking of course, I know full well how special it is to have met someone you can be genuine with.  _

 

_ As to your question, I have met a handful of people that have been unaffected by the Veela Charm, but I have not encountered a situation quite as you describe. _

 

Appoline paused in her writing, leaning against the padded back of the chair. She didn’t want to mislead her daughter, but she didn’t want to caution her, and poke the fires of Fleur’s curiosity with vague warnings. Making up her mind, she leaned forward to finish.

 

_ I am sorry that I’m unable to help you in this. I don’t expect I need to tell you to treasure this friendship, and don’t let your desire to understand the ‘why’ of his immunity get in the way of enjoying your time together. _

 

_ Love always, _

_ -A _

 

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

 

Fleur crumpled her mother’s letter in frustration, and tossed it on the bed. Between the thinly veiled ‘leave it be’, and the antiquated ‘Veela Charm’ phrase her mother insisted on using, Fleur almost wished she’d never written the letter in the first place.

 

Pacing her small cabin within the Beauxbatons carriage, she tried to calm her irritation, to only minor success. She knew her mother's letter only irritated her because she was right. The unique situation with Harry had basically consumed her since the ball. She had hoped that Harry hadn't taken offence to her sudden disappearance after the ball, and reclusiveness over the final week of the year.

 

She stopped pacing, and flopped roughly down on her bed, the same anxious worries flitting through her mind. She had invited him to the ball, then vanished into the night after just two dances. Then she hadn't said a word to him in the week since, instead opting to obsess over his immunity, rather than enjoy their new friendship.

 

She flopped down onto her back, sinking into the thick duvet. She looked over at her mother's crumpled letter laying dejectedly next to her. She reluctantly admitted that her mother was probably right, and knew her well. She sat up and opened the letter, smoothing out the wrinkles in a futile effort to stave off the anxious knot forming in her stomach. She wanted to visit with her friend some more, and that meant she'd have to face it if he was upset with her for vanishing suddenly. Resolving not to waste any more of the winter break, she gathered up her cloak and her courage, and set out to search the massive school for Harry.

 

She was fortunate in that Harry and his friends were in one of the first few places she looked. He, the red-haired boy, and the girl with the bushy hair were seated at a small table in the corner of the library. Fleur ignored the stammering of a boy who passed by, and focused on the small group. They were all seated facing each other, with Harry’s back to her hiding place. They appeared to be deep in a discussion about something serious, and they hadn't seemed to notice her. She took a deep breath, and took a step forward, out from the safety of the bookshelves.

 

She hadn’t been lying to Harry when she said he was the only person she’d been able to talk to in many years, and now that she was approaching two completely new people, she felt as though her heart was pounding all the way up in her throat. It didn’t seem like the bushy haired witch was dating either boy, which only made the situation slightly better. Even with no romantic attachment, nobody tended to like it when their friends quit paying any attention to them to stare vacantly at a Veela. She could tell the moment that she was noticed. She felt the surprise of Harry’s friends as the redhead’s eyes became focused on her, and his expression relaxed into one of admiration.

 

Harry followed their gazes, and his eyes widened in another momentary expression of surprise before he looked over at his redheaded friend.

 

“Could I...join you?” Fleur found herself asking, wishing to disappear under the scrutinous gaze of the bushy haired witch, who was alternating between looks of annoyance at her friend, and poorly veiled curiosity at Fleur.

 

“Yes!” The redhead said immediately, though Fleur ignored him, and kept her gaze fixed on Harry and his other friend.

 

“Uh, sure,” Harry said, getting up and dragging a nearby chair over to be included in the small group. She sat in the offered chair, and took a deep breath, preparing to explain why she came.

 

“I’m Hermione Granger,” the girl said first, her voice clear and precise, and surprisingly devoid of any anger. Fleur blinked in surprise, and found Hermione’s hand, offered in front of her. Fleur clasped it and shook, trying to regain her emotional balance.

 

“I’m Fleur Delacour,” she answered after releasing the younger witch’s hand. Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the redhead, who jumped between them, offering his own hand.

 

“I’m Ron!” he said much too loudly, a loopy smile on his face.

 

“ _ Ron _ !” Hermione hissed, glancing around the largely deserted library. A few Durmstrang students appeared to be at the far end of the library, though they seemed not to have heard.

 

Ron didn’t appear to hear Hermione’s admonition, and continued standing between the other three, staring down at Fleur.

 

Fleur let out a sigh of regret. She didn’t like addressing the people that were enthralled with her. It felt...wrong. Like a halved version of the Imperious.

 

“Would you sit down please?” she asked gently, looking back into Ron’s blue eyes.

 

Ron smiled widely at a chance to impress her, and immediately returned to his seat.

 

Fleur found herself impressed. Many would have sat straight down on the floor, as she had been afraid he might due to her nonspecific request. If he could make inferences as to what she meant, he wasn’t quite as enthralled as he appeared.

 

“Fascinating,” she heard Hermione say, before Harry spoke up instead, a tad louder than necessary.

 

“Why are you here in the library?” He asked bluntly. Fleur saw the realization cross his features as he realized how he’d sounded. She smiled inwardly, a little of her nervousness retreating at his oddly charming way of stumbling backwards after saying something he thought a little off. “Not that you aren’t welcome, or anything,” he said, backtracking. “I was just wondering…” he trailed off, looking over at Hermione, who was hiding the barest of smirks.

 

“I…” she hesitated, looking between Hermione and Harry, “I wanted to visit...and meet your friends, if that’s okay.” 

 

“Of course it is!” Hermione answered for them, her voice also slightly overloud.

 

They sat in awkward silence for a moment, before Fleur felt Hermione’s curiosity overcome her trepidation.

 

“How are you liking Hogwarts?” Hermione asked, surprising Fleur with the question. Fleur had been expecting a question about Veela, especially since she’d gotten the impression from Harry that Hermione was fascinated by learning about the various aspects of magical culture.

 

“It's great,” Fleur answered honestly, “I've always wanted to come see it, but never had the chance before now. Hogwarts is larger, and more visually impressive than Beauxbatons, but Beauxbatons has a warmth to it that Hogwarts does not. It's a little difficult to explain.”

 

“I’ve heard the fountain dedicated to the Flamels in the middle of Beauxbatons has healing properties,” Hermione said, her interest apparently piqued.

 

Before Fleur could answer, Ron jumped in, his chest thrust out with pride.

 

“We saved their stone from You-Know-Who when we were just first years!”


End file.
